


An Unfamiliar Face

by Aeschere



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Disfigurement, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Friendship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Mistaken Identity, Nightmare of miscarriage, Past Character Death, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pregnancy, Those Who Slither in the Dark, Whump, burn scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21777004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeschere/pseuds/Aeschere
Summary: After Fódlan's bloody war, a raid against Those Who Slither in the Dark goes terribly wrong for Ferdinand. He is left horribly burned, and his friends don't know that he is still alive. Will he survive as an anonymous casualty? Will he come to grips with his new scars or reconnect with his loved ones?
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Ferdinand von Aegir/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 18
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iconodule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iconodule/gifts).



> My Blue Lions run Byleth is named “Poppy,” so when Byleth is referenced in this work, she is called Poppy.

The wind blew in ragged wheezes across the faces of the gathered soldiers. Ferdinand stood proudly at the head of his own band of warriors, the winter sun granting the metal of their armor a dull gleam. That grey day, they had work to do.

Beside him were comrades from the lately-ended war: Lorenz in his ornate armor and Felix the newly-created Duke, scowling and scanning the environment like a cautious deer. They each had a small band of soldiers surrounding them, swaying uncertainly in the weakly stirring air, a grim host swarming the village of Sindry. Ferdinand knew that not far away, a reluctant Linhardt was waiting to receive any people injured by fighting. 

The rumors surrounding Sindry had spoken of shadowy figures and people disappearing at night. Stories of innocents being dragged into buildings with basements and strange chemical smells began to abound. There were, unfortunately, increased monster sightings surrounding the area, too, even extending east into Varley territory. After marrying Bernadetta, and after Bernadetta’s father was imprisoned, Ferdinand was privy to the information the new head of House Varley relayed to his wife. Bernadetta darted into Ferdinand’s office one day to tell him that Count Varley planned to send a scouting force of soldiers to Sindry. He, in turn, immediately wrote to Archbishop Poppy and King Dimitri about the threat. 

Ferdinand saw Felix’s small formation of fifteen soldiers in front of him. Unsurprisingly, Felix’s voice echoed back to him; the sharp staccatos of bickering carried easily through the deepening evening air. 

“Why isn’t that lazy slug coming with us?” Felix said, “If he wants to help heal after the fighting he needs to be near the people fighting.” Linhardt had heard about the monster infestation and the Slitherer sightings and tagged along at a distance, ostensibly to help heal any victims. For his own safety, he was currently waiting in the camp they had set outside Sindry. Really Ferdinand suspected the man wanted to look at any artifacts they found. In any case, Linhardt hated fighting and the war was over. Felix’s indignant voice braying through the crowds of soldiers told Ferdinand that he wouldn’t accept any excuses for Linhardt. He decided not to talk to Felix about that subject. They had much worse things to worry about there, anyway. This was their best lead on Those Who Slither’s activities for months. 

Even if the rumors of shadowy figures turned out to be nothing, the nobles had to show the common people that they cared about keeping them safe. Increased monster activity had to be stopped, too, no matter what the cause was. And so a force of soldiers about 40 men strong now descended on Sindry like a grim mist to wipe out the threat.

Ferdinand could see the villagers peeking out of the narrow windows of their homes, the darkness in their houses contrasting against their pale faces. The rays of the winter sun cast their dying light around the shapes of the village scene, the sheds and dwellings huddled together as if for warmth. The only locals that were out were the three guides, standing in the cold, seeming almost naked compared to the three bands of soldiers in their armor. The warriors themselves betrayed little signs of discomfort, except for slight shivering as they held their weapons and their serious faces reddened in the chill air. Ferdinand adjusted his gauntlets and helmet, thankful that they protected him from the cold as well as from enemies. It felt strange to feel the absence of the familiar pressure of his signet and wedding rings under his gauntlet, but he had to wear them around his neck for his armor to fit his hands properly.

The chorus of hooves and clanking armor covered up the silence of the village. If Ferdinand weren’t at the head of his men, he wouldn’t be able to hear the villager guides at all. The local who ventured up to Ferdinand and his soldiers was an old man, dressed in thick wool and a burlap jacket. His eyebrows were thick and furrowed with anxiety, and he kept glancing from side to side. 

“Your grace, I will lead you to areas where I’ve seen the suspicious people. Ah, if it pleases you, your grace. I am Dedal, an elder of this village,” the old man said with a stiff bow, and glanced up at Ferdinand fearfully, as if expecting an angry reaction. Ferdinand smiled slightly and nodded in return.

“Your guidance will be indispensable, Dedal, thank you,” he said. He looked over to Felix and his soldiers, who were being led by their guide towards the dimming forest that surrounded the village. The shriek of a beast rang from the dusky foothills beyond the surrounding woodland, the slopes and trees echoing its twisted voice over and over into a chorus. Then he looked to Lorenz, whose battalion had only ten soldiers. “Excuse me a minute,” Ferdinand said to Dedal. He held up a hand, signaling his company to hold, and walked over to Lorenz. 

“And the avian beast. Did you sight it near the meadow with the three-legged beast?” Lorenz was asking the villager, a haggard-looking man in a worn jacket. The man was not as old as Dedal, but still used a cane and was slouched over. Lorenz had adopted his habitual regal pose: standing straight with one arm curled towards his rose besagew and one hand on the hip where his sword was sheathed. As Ferdinand approached, Lorenz looked at him and smiled.

“Yes, I saw my Senta near that place a few times…” the villager said sadly. Although Lorenz had turned his attention to his friend’s approach, he glanced back at the man with furrowed brows.

“Senta? Why do you call the avian beast that?” Lorenz asked. The villager turned his gaze even further down to the ground, which was silvery with frosty grass. 

“I’m sure it’s her. My Senta disappeared before I saw her… looking like that. When I saw her, I just knew. I just knew… It has to be her,” the villager said. Lorenz sighed sadly and Ferdinand bowed his head.

“My condolences,” said Ferdinand. He left that statement hang in the empty air for a few seconds before continuing with his purpose. He made a mental note to be sure not to call the creatures that Those Who Slither in the Dark made from unfortunate people “beasts.” At least not in the presence of this poor man. “Since it seems you will be fighting the enemy forces, Lorenz, I will be lending you the help of half of my men.” Lorenz looked over to Ferdinand with an arched brow. 

“Are you sure?” Lorenz said. 

“Yes. I couldn’t bear it if you and your men were overwhelmed because of a mere lack of manpower. Your task is very dangerous,” Ferdinand said. Lorenz smiled and made a slight bow. 

“I thank you then,” Lorenz said. Ferdinand stepped back to his own men, who were looking at him in expectation. 

"Keen, Dirk, Cynwrig, Vang, Cordell, Hama, Klemens, Rikard, Arne, Rhettl! Step forward!” Ferdinand called out, “You will join Count Gloucester and his men!” The ten soldiers he had named stepped forward. They were some of his most stalwart knights, who had stuck with him the entire five years he was wandering during the war, and all the way through it. They would protect Lorenz well. The soldiers saluted and marched to Lorenz, kicking up particles of frozen dirt as they went. After they had formed as the rearguard of Lorenz’s forces, Lorenz, together with his soldiers and the forlorn villager, made their way to the forest. The poignant cry of a beast pierced through the air, close to where Ferdinand judged Felix and his men were most likely at. The beasts were nearer now than the day-old report from the Varley scouts said, then. It was good that they had come here before it could get closer. Dedal grimaced. 

“Your grace, if you would follow me,” Dedal said, and began walking to the outskirts of the village, where the huts leaned more and a few partially collapsed stone buildings lingered. Ferdinand and his remaining soldiers trundled after Dedal, scanning the environment as they went. “The Varley men are still here, your grace. I led them to the old mill house not too long ago,” Dedal continued, looking back with lowered eyes to Ferdinand occasionally. Ferdinand had received a preliminary scouting report from Varley’s scouts about the surrounding wilderness and where the beasts roamed in it, which he had shared with Felix and Lorenz earlier. It seemed Varley’s scouts had stayed to help look for Those Who Slither. Ferdinand smiled with relief. The scouts being in Sindry would make this easier. 

As they marched on, Ferdinand noticed a subtle change. As they entered the village at first, he had only smelled woodsmoke and horses. Now, an acrid tang was in the air. Ferdinand couldn’t recognize what it was exactly, but it became stronger the further Dedal led them along. When they reached the furthest extremity of the houses that made up Sindry, Dedal pointed to a lone stone building in the middle distance, a monadnock of crumbling masonry among the frosty grass. Beyond it was a barren field, scattered with skeletal vines and shallow ditches where crop rows once were. The holes in the house’s walls were illuminated in the dusky light, and the insistent wind pushed through the ruins with a low whistle. “That was a vintner’s house, back when Sindry had more people. It definitely had a deep basement, that I’m sure of, your grace.” Ferdinand nodded. 

“I see. Do you also smell something strange, Dedal?” Ferdinand asked. Dedal sighed. 

“Yes, your grace. It started smelling strange a few weeks ago. We saw the strangers before that started, but when there were more, and more beasts were in the forest, the stench began.” 

“Thank you for your help, Dedal. We will search this ruin and see what we can find,” Ferdinand said, and addressed his remaining soldiers, “Be cautious. Remember to explore slowly, and together. There will be no splitting up.” Five of his remaining men took up positions in front of him, and five went behind, faces grim, but nervous. All of them drew their weapons.

The inside of the ruined house was bleak, but the only suspicious thing was the unplaceable acrid smell getting stronger. It was starting to give Ferdinand a headache. The night was beginning to overtake the dusk, but because of the smell, he didn’t want torches to be lit, since the source could be flammable in some way. It didn’t seem like pitch or any other explosive agent that Ferdinand had been around. Mysterious odors could be from magical ingredients, he supposed. He had little doubt they were close to a Slitherer lair. 

As soon as they entered, the straight stairway leading down into deeper darkness greeted them. Ferdinand wanted to make sure the rooms above the surface were safe before venturing down further, however, so he and this men crept through in a solid group. The rooms on the ground floor were all cleared of belongings, except for a rotting end table they found in one, and an old doll in another. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The only sound was the whistling of the wind and the soft clink of their sabatons against the floor. Ferdinand gave all orders of where to search next through hand signals only. He doubted they would have surprise on their side if they found any enemies, but it couldn’t hurt to approach as silently as possible. After the ground floor was found to be bereft of clues, they turned to the stairs to the basement. Ferdinand held up a hand. They waited, silent, listening to the empty noise around them. No noises from a living creature could be heard, except for their own breathing and occasional teeth chattering. 

As they descended the wide stone stairs, Ferdinand pulled on the cord around his neck so that his signet and wedding rings hung on the outside of his armor. It was time to dispense with stealth. There was no way for them to search without the need for light. He paused briefly, concentrating on using the rings as a focus for a simple spell. Soon, the necklace glowed with magic, casting a sphere of light around him. It was enough to reach a few feet beyond the band of soldiers, so that they could search without risking igniting any magical compounds, and this way he had both his hands free in case he needed to use his weapons. Ferdinand hadn’t studied magic very extensively at his time at Garreg Mach, but he did learn some simple spells. As he did so, Callan, the remaining knight who knew magic, also cast a light.

With each creeping step down into the earth, Ferdinand strained his eyes to see any hint of danger. During their cautious descent, Ferdinand saw no glints of weapons. He heard no crackle of magic, only his and his soldiers’ own breathing. This couldn’t be it. The anticipation of an attack made Ferdinand’s heart pick up its pace. The ridges of the leather grip of his longsword dug into his hands as he grasped it tighter. When they reached the bottom and looked around at the menagerie of mouldering barrels, they heard something fall over. Ferdinand flinched.

Just outside of their lights, a flowing movement was barely perceptible, like dark robes moving in darkness. If there was someone there, because of the light, there was no doubt they’d been seen already.

“Come forward! If you are a friend, you will show yourself!” Ferdinand shouted. In answer, whoever was there only moved further to the side, as if to flank them. Ferdinand shouted, “Ice!” Immediately, Callan shot a barrage of icicles into the darkness where the movement was seen. A strangled cry erupted from where the attack had gone, a grim confirmation that Callan had struck true. They kept advancing until they saw the body. The distinctive black clothes and deathly pale skin of a Slitherer greeted them as they approached with the light. Ferdinand gripped his longsword with both hands, lowering it down and pointing the tip behind him in a tail guard.

A clang of metal rang out as his soldiers found another one, and out of his peripheral vision, Ferdinand saw yet another, axe gleaming coldly in the artificial light. The Slitherer brought down his axe vertically with an aggressive grunt. Ferdinand scoffed internally as he easily dodged to the left and slashed upwards from the tail guard. His blade flashed in an arc towards the Slitherer’s extended arm. As the sword met pale flesh, a spray of blood erupted from it. Ferdinand carried through with the blow, cleaving the enemy’s arm off. The ghostly pale man screamed, and the axe attached to the severed hand clanged to the ground. Ferdinand’s sword was already poised in the air from the upwards slash that claimed the Slitherer’s hand, but as Ferdinand moved to slash at his neck, a frenzied shout came from behind him. Someone grabbed the top of his helmet and savagely pulled his head back. 

Pain flared in Ferdinand’s neck at the unnatural backwards arc, and he gasped. He stumbled back and twisted his body to try to escape the grip on his head. As he tried to right himself, the protective pressure of his helmet left his scalp. When he regained his balance, he heard the clang of his helmet joining the axe on the floor, and saw a livid Slitherer warrior locked in combat with one of his soldiers next to it. Immediately Ferdinand tried to get his bearings through the clamor of shouts and sounds of metallic scraping. He searched the sphere of light, now writhing with men, blood, and steel, for the Slitherer he had wounded. It was difficult to even guess how many there were. It occurred to Ferdinand that none of the Slitherers he glimpsed were dressed in the uniform of their mages. A hand gripped around the right side of his neck.

Ferdinand shouted again, and turned as much as he could while bringing his bloodied blade to meet whoever was grabbing him. It was the Slitherer whose arm he’d severed, face twisted in rage. As Ferdinand brought the tip of his longsword into position to impale the Slitherer through the stomach, and as the light from Ferdinand’s necklace shone in his eyes, the Slitherer snarled out something in an unknown language. The Slitherer leapt back, and his remaining hand dragged down across the skin on Ferdinand’s neck before moving back. The necklace tightened against Ferdinand’s skin with the force of the enemy’s leap, and pulled him forwards. The cord with his wedding and signet rings, one of their sources of light, snapped. The enemy saw what was in his hand and smiled, turned, and ran. 

As the one-armed Slitherer ran through the ghostly shapes of rotting wood, he began calling out in their guttural language. The remaining enemies who fought with Ferdinand’s men began pulling back. The only source of light then for Ferdinand’s side was Callan, who was struggling on one knee to get off the ground and had blood leaking out of his leg armor. The light he cast was dimming. The one-armed Slitherer, wreathed in the stolen light focused on Ferdinand’s rings, reached the far side of the basement and went through a door. Ferdinand was able to briefly see strange runed panels on either side of the door as the one-armed Slitherer passed through. The other Slitherers streamed towards the door in a loose throng then, leaving Ferdinand and his men alone in the gloom. Ferdinand didn’t want to wait around to see what they were going back to fetch.

“Retreat!” he shouted, and kneeled down to help Callan get up. With Callan leaning on his right shoulder, Ferdinand made his way to the stairs out of the basement. The steps had ample room for two men to walk side by side, but were small. Ferdinand prayed they wouldn’t stumble in their haste and the fading light. The unidentifiable but acrid smell and the exertion was making him gasp as he went. He could hear his men breathing heavily near him, too. As he was halfway up the stairs, he got a few steps ahead of Callan and turned left to look down into the basement to make sure nobody was lagging behind. Instead of its former darkness he saw an eerie green glow. Before Ferdinand could think, the glow grew to a blinding light.

A noise, deeper than a drum but more ear-searing than a beast’s scream exploded from below. The world seemed a plane of flaming light, and Ferdinand’s body seemed a wick of pain. He felt himself fly through the air, though there was no cooling comfort in the current of wind, only burning. Then, he hit the ground, a vibration of impact through the fibers of his body. Ferdinand could hear solid clunks of something hit the ground around him. One landed on his stomach, along with a hail of dust. Whatever it was was lighter than a stone, and the length of a forearm. Somewhere in the distance, he heard another explosion. The battle cry of a beast, a long keening wail, echoed soon after the second blast, as if even its crazed mind was distressed by it. Ferdinand’s head was ringing like a carillon; like the beast, he could not truly fathom what had happened to him. Not yet. Unconsciousness soon took Ferdinand under its protective wings.

***

Voices, as faint as a distant river through the fog of Ferdinand’s mind, woke him up. 

“Have you found anyone yet?” one said. Ferdinand tried to open his eyes. His right saw the firmament in its night attire, studded with stars. Where his left eye should have been, he only felt something dried to his skin. Caked, even. And it was deeper into his head than it should feel. Was his eye gone? Ferdinand tried to bring up a hand to feel his face. A rush of pain immediately trampled through his body. It lingered on his skin but was relentless, searching through every fiber until all Ferdinand could feel was agony. He opened his mouth to draw in breath, and the relative coolness of the night air was a brief comfort. It was too weak to satisfy Ferdinand’s pain, and soon he began to smell burned flesh and hair. He pushed the breath out of his lungs, which because of his discomfort felt hot, hoping for a scream. What came out was only a rattling groan.

“Hey… Did you hear that?” another, closer voice said. Ferdinand heard stones tumbling against one another, and heavy bootsteps. “Goddess! I think this one’s alive!” 

The horrified face of a man slid into the view of his remaining eye. Then came the awful sensation of his arm being lifted off the ground. Ferdinand felt little grainy, rocky things fall out of his skin, and he groaned again. His lungs were immediately sore from the effort of doing even that. The man gasped, and slid his hands under Ferdinand’s torso, dividing him from the ground. Ferdinand felt fabric peeling off his skin as he was separated from the dirt, and wanted to shudder. He hadn’t the strength to. 

“He’s the first one in one piece! Where are the healers holed up again?” the first voice said. Ferdinand felt a second set of hands under his torso bearing him up. It seemed to him that every movement of his rescuers was transmitted to him as a bruising blow. As they moved, his head was angled to see parts of their surroundings. The walls of the vintner’s abandoned house, the lair of Those Who Slithered, lay scattered around. Poking out here and there like clovers in a field were burned limbs. Then he saw a few villagers piling blackened body parts into a heap to be burned. Behind the heap, he could barely see Lorenz’s familiar frame, holding something and shaking. His heart lurched. His friend was alive! He had been in too much pain for that question to occur to him, but now he didn’t have to wonder. Before his rescuer’s promenade carrying Ferdinand led them past this mournful scene, he saw someone begin to lead Lorenz away. Perhaps the one pulling Lorenz along was Felix. His friend soon disappeared from view, his body slumped. He was leaving? Why? 

Ferdinand was groaning and was being carried right by his best friend. Why didn’t Lorenz see him? The people touching him, the villagers bloodying their hands with his injuries, why didn’t they recognize him? 

Ferdinand’s eye darted back and forth over everything he could see, never resting on anything. His chest rose and fell. His heart quickened its pace into a frenzied gallop. Had he been burned? How badly? Nobody could recognize him. Why? Ferdinand’s intakes of breath became sharp enough to sometimes make an audible wheeze. He wanted to speak, but in his panic, his body only wanted air.

What did Ferdinand even look like now?

The men carrying him brought him into a building, laying him on what felt like a cot and quickly withdrawing. A few seconds later, more strangers came into Ferdinand’s view, each with a horrified look. He darted his gaze between each person there, never focusing enough to get a clear picture of the people by his side.

“What do we do?” a voice said. It sounded like a young woman. 

“First we need to get all this off him,” another voice said. An old woman. A new, sharp pain from his legs added itself into his overload of discomfort. Someone was prying off his armor. When they got down to the clothes underneath, the peeling felt like his skin was coming off. The ruined fabric he saw being carried away was barely recognizable, like a membrane of dirt and blood. What were the healers seeing underneath the burned rags? Ferdinand wanted to faint. “Did those two say where he was found?” the old woman’s voice continued. 

“Um… I think he was from… the blast at the millhouse,” the young woman’s voice said. No.

No. He had to tell them. He drew in a breath, lungs burning. The peeling continued. Someone lifted up his torso. What should he say? The words jumbled in his mind. Many fingers pressed into his back. The pain he already felt throughout his body was deepened in most of his back as a large section of fabric was removed. It felt raw and exposed underneath. As soon as that piece was gone, more insistent tugging came. He could no longer tell if what was being upped off was skin or cloth. All his thoughts were knocked into oblivion as Ferdinand finally fainted.

He had brief bouts of consciousness for a few hours. He searched out his surroundings in a haze of agony. His body was covered in damp bandages now, a second skin. It was barely warmer than outside. The ceiling was old slats of wood, and Ferdinand often heard the wind make the slats groan along with the inhabitants of the makeshift infirmary. He heard other men there. The chorus of labored breathing and moans made it seem that there were at most ten others. Often he heard murmuring, and occasionally he could make out words.

“I can’t believe it. Duke Aegir dead, in our little town…” His heart turned to lead. “And that noble who’s a healer… Hevring? Is following the soldiers. He won’t help us here.” Ferdinand heard a bitter sigh from somewhere near him.

“The other nobles drove the monsters away, at least… I hope they catch those evil… those evil… Who in creation were those mages?” Even knowing that Sindry was safe for the moment wasn’t a relief. The pain took hold of his mind, strangling any shoots of satisfaction that could have grown from the good news.

“They never found Duke Aegir?” In a haze Ferdinand thought of his father, the late Duke. When he had gathered his allies to save him, braving crowds of rioting commoners, all he had been rewarded with was the news that the Duke was killed. The Duke’s body was destroyed, they were told. In the midst of the war, they had no time for a search or a proper funeral. What if his father had lingered on like Ferdinand was now? For days, or weeks, waiting to be rescued? There was no doubt now that Ferdinand was burned beyond recognition. The thought that this might be divine punishment for failing to save his father, or perhaps for not trying hard enough to atone for the old Duke’s sins, entered his mind. Ferdinand’s already labored breathing became more ragged, but there was little more his body could do to show distress.

What would Bernadetta be doing now, without him? He tried to think of his wife, of pleasant thoughts. Surely she was cozy, bundled up in a blanket next to a well-stoked fireplace. Ferdinand imagined her face, glowing with warmth and smiling. The imagined Bernadetta rubbed her pregnant belly and began cutting up a sheet of cotton to make small sets of clothing. Before Ferdinand left her for Sindry, she had told him she’d muster up an army of dolls for their baby. The families of his knights were probably happy now, too. Those families were enduring an empty seat at their tables with false hope. They would soon be told that those seats would never be filled. He began to imagine Bernadetta’s face when some husky-voiced messenger delivered the news to her, her eyes widening, more and more white showing, her stumbling backwards, curling up into a ball… Ferdinand’s anticipation of the suffering of others bled away his energy until he finally fell asleep, concluding the first day after his life changed forever. 

***

When he woke up the next day in a blissful fog of forgetfulness, he tried to reach out to the side, searching for Bernadetta. He felt so exhausted. After they had been married, it had swiftly become their tradition to cuddle each other after awakening, and before they left the haven of their bed to start their daily duties. He had always felt so deeply soothed when he felt the gentle tugging of his new wife running her fingers through his hair and the soft pressure of her nestling into his chest. When he hugged her tightly back under the warmth of their blankets, the world felt so condensed and so right, like they were both exactly where they were supposed to be. But now, he felt cold. Something felt wrong when he stretched out his hand.

The burning pain when he tried to move his arm and the unfamiliar ceiling of the makeshift infirmary dragged him back to his new reality. He felt not a satisfied calm from a long night of rest, but rather an ache in his eye and a deep thirst. When he withdrew his arm, he felt that the fingers on his left hand were fixed into a curled up claw. He found that when he tried to move them, he couldn’t. Ferdinand felt a hot tear welling up in his remaining eye, and then something strange. 

A pressure on the left side of his face where his eye used to be grew, and then warm liquid ran down through his nose. The liquid ran out of the bandages, wetting the fabric bands under his nose and covering his mouth. He cautiously stretched out his tongue, wincing when it touched his lips, and ran it against the damp bandages under his nose. The liquid was tears. His left tear duct must have been so damaged that it was draining out of his nose. So he couldn’t even cry properly.

A sudden wail came through the thin wooden wall. It sounded like a young woman. Poor Bernadetta. Who would hold her now? Who would she look to for comfort when she was frightened? Perhaps it was for the best that she thought he had died. If she saw him now, she would have every right to be scared. Would it be even harder for her to have to see his disfigured body than it would be for her to raise their child alone? 

Ferdinand thought back to his time all those years ago at the Academy. Professor Poppy had returned from a battle with nothing more than a new color for her hair and eyes, and Bernadetta had become terrified of her, and shrank from all contact for weeks. All this, even though the Professor has befriended Bernadetta and become close enough for Bernadetta to even allow her into her room.

Ferdinand imagined her small and alone in his estate, belly swelling large with a new life. He imagined the halls vacant, and made unfamiliar by a hushed gloom and black cloth wrapped over all the shiny decorations he’d loved so much as a child. The winding black would not spare even the portrait he’d commissioned of him and Bernadetta together after their joyful wedding. When Ignatz had painted Ferdinand and Bernadetta, he had kept telling them how happy they looked, and congratulated them over and over. Perhaps weeks in the future, when he was truly dead and buried in an unknown grave, she would look at it, hunched over her burgeoning stomach, with her fatherless child stirring inside of her. 

And even further into the future, what would become of their baby? Would it be lonely without its father? Ferdinand thought of a subdued playroom, of an exhausted Bernadetta trying her best to make their child happy and flinching away from any well-meaning servants.

Then his thoughts wound on towards an even worse place. He had heard of pregnant women, due to long periods of fear or stress, falling ill and even losing their child. Ferdinand knew his wife to be the most easily frightened of all the Goddess’s creatures. Then… if the world, if Bernadetta thought he was dead… The overwhelming wave of fear and desperation that ran through him then was almost physically painful. The involuntary shudder and teeth chattering that came after caused a dance of muscle movements through him, and each one was uncomfortable.

Ferdinand’s thoughts were interrupted as a woman began to speak to him.

“You… you’re awake now. Then I can feed you,” she said. Someone started pulling his torso off the bed, which sent a wave of pain down his spine and through his ribs and midriff. A small pile of hay-stuffed pillows was wedged under him, so that he was propped up. 

Ferdinand opened his eye, and a female orderly stuck a spoon with a suspicious-smelling gruel under his nose. He had forgotten the empty feeling in his own stomach entirely during the course of his thoughts about his poor wife. He accepted the spoon into his mouth. The gruel was warm and tasted of nothing in particular, except perhaps soggy oats. He glanced up at the orderly as she maneuvered another spoonful past his bandages. She wasn’t looking at him. 

The sticky food left behind traces in his mouth that he was having a hard time scraping away with his tongue, adding to his thirst. When the orderly pressed a shallow dish of water to his burning lips, he could only get a few gulps before she pulled it away. Ferdinand struggled to form the word for water.

“W-w...” he whispered out, and tried to bring up a hand. The orderly continued to not look at him. 

“I’m sorry. We need to conserve the water for others,” she said. The orderly set the water dish on a table and then pressed both hands on his chest.

“Urh...” Ferdinand groaned out. Cool, soothing healing magic soon spread through his chest, to his neck, and to his extremities, pooling in the areas that hurt the most. For a short time, the pain almost ceased, and his uneven breathing steadied. He closed his eye in relief, and as the healing continued, the sounds around him grew louder. Ah, his ears must be getting some of it. Her hands were soon gone, however, and the hay pillows were removed. Ferdinand heard her step away to the bed past the one that was next to him. For a moment Ferdinand listened closely, confused. He could no longer hear the man who had been next to him breathing. Ferdinand felt colder when he realized why the room had grown more quiet. 

Before she moved further away, he tried to speak. Pulling his mouth into the required shape and taking in more air sent a wave of needling pain separate from what he normally felt, and it took every ounce, every grain of his concentration. He planned to say the sentence “I am the Duke.” Just four words. Normally he would pray to the Goddess that it wouldn’t be too difficult for him to say that, but because of his pain and the exertion of speaking, he couldn’t muster up the energy. Nor could he even think of offering up a prayer in the moment.

“I...” he took in another shallow breath. He couldn’t tell if the orderly had stopped to listen. “A-am.” The “m” sound came out as a moan he was trying to keep quiet. Another breath, deeper this time. He heard the door that the orderly had been moving towards close, but what that meant didn’t occur to him. “T-th…uke,” he whispered out. Nobody answered. Looking up from his sickbed like a body through a yawning grave, he felt his heart sinking to the bowels of the earth.

The rest of the day was spent in a haze of pain. Periodically, healers would come to turn his body over, like a cook turning a vegetable in a slowly burning frying pan. When they touched him, he tried to tell them the same words: “I am the Duke,” but it came out weaker than before. It usually promoted no response, except for a confused look. They never leaned in closer to hear, always anxious to get to the next patient.

“Try not to talk, son,” an exhausted healer at last said. “Son”... Ferdinand was reminded of his valet, Eld, who would sometimes accidentally call him “son” instead of “sir.” Eld had served Ferdinand since he was eight and had even insisted on joining him in exile after he found himself opposing his homeland. Even so, Eld always became very embarrassed and apologetic when he said it. The similarities ended there, however. 

The stranger looming over Ferdinand barely looked at him, no real expression on his face. He was not old enough to have a lined face and was brusque in his movements. After it became clear that trying speaking to them would be useless, Ferdinand’s words turned to ash in his mouth. 

More food and water came at the end of the day. This time, Ferdinand noticed that the healers stopped longer at the cot of the patient to his left. He wondered if this was how his little brother Osmund felt when they had both been gravely sick when they were little children. Very little reminded Ferdinand of him anymore; he had been alive so long ago, and he never got to know him well. Osmund had no crest. Osmund died of the fever that Ferdinand eventually survived, and was mourned chiefly by his mother and the servants. When Ferdinand was older, he started praying for his little brother’s soul, as was his duty. Osmund was the first member of his nighttime litany of names, which only grew over time.

When the shallow dish was pressed against his lips, the water he was allowed didn’t satisfy him. His pleading eye must have communicated something to the healer, at least. 

“I know what you said, Celia, but shouldn’t we at least give him that pain medicine you showed me?” the same orderly from before said. Ferdinand heard no response. “Celia” must have nodded on his new blind side, however, because soon a new cup of water, as well as a ceramic pot with a spoon was brought to him. Ferdinand’s heart leapt and his breathing got faster and more choppy. The orderly opened the pot and ladled a shallow spoonful of the teal liquid into the water, and pressed it to his sore mouth. Ferdinand gulped it down as eagerly as he had the strength to. It tasted sweet, a little familiar. He couldn’t quite remember why.

After the medicine was administered, his allotted short session of healing commenced. He sighed in relief, though Ferdinand thought the soothing sensation was weaker than last time. It was over far too soon. The healers withdrew, a cloud drifting over the horizon bearing soothing rain away. As minutes passed, a lazy numbness crept through him, like he had been lying in the snow. It was not enough to freeze away all of the pain of the burns, but at least it didn’t fill so much of his thoughts for a time.

The shadows deepened across the room and ceiling, and the night birds began to sing. The exhaustion of trying to talk multiple times during the day was beginning to take its toll. He wanted to sleep. The sweet medicine dulled his pain and strengthened his already ponderous fatigue. He wished dearly that his blanket was thicker. Ferdinand thought it ironic that he felt so chilled when he had been burned so badly. But despite the cold, sleep eventually folded him into its arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic is for Iconodule's Christmas present! Sorry I couldn't finish it all in time. Merry Christmas, and enjoy your goblet overflowing with tears! Thanks for the angst idea, Iconodule, and all the encouragement!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand's condition worsens after being seriously burned in an attack by Those Who Slither in the Dark. Plagued by nightmares and a growing despair, will he survive until his friends discover what happened to him?

His dream began pleasantly enough; he was a child again, and in the tea room with his mother. The light that set the pink- and gold-painted ceramics aglow was that of the sunset, and his mother sat looking out of the window. In the welcoming red and orange light, he saw the familiar furniture from the height of a small child. Ferdinand thought he heard his father calling his mother, with fear in his voice, in the background:

“Adelaide! Come quickly!” But in the logic of sleep, he thought nothing of why his father was calling out. In the dream, he was glad his father wasn’t there. After the Duke had seen Ferdinand hugging a servant one day, he had taken to saying that nobles shouldn’t be too physically affectionate, and scolded him whenever he saw Ferdinand hugging anyone, even his mother. In the dream, Ferdinand wanted to do exactly that. Then, his mother did not answer Duke Aegir with her usual quick “Coming, Ludwig!”, but continued looking at the shifting colors outside.

Ferdinand toddled up to the tea table and looked up at his mother’s face. Over the years after her death when he was nine, he had forgotten her features. His mother’s face looked blurry, like an unfinished painting. He smiled at her and lifted up his arms in a childish petition to be picked up. 

His mother paid no attention to him. When he tugged on the hem of her skirt, she turned away. He opened his mouth to call her, and immediately the pain from the waking world leaked in. His little lungs burned, and no sound came out. When he grabbed at her legs in distress, his mother moved away in her chair. The unreal world shifted under his feet, and Ferdinand tipped backwards, trying to scream. 

He landed an adult, in his bed in his mansion. Ferdinand was still asleep, but his mind was again confused in its feverish slumber. He forgot all about the battle, the explosions, and his confinement in a broken body that nobody recognized. He thought only that he had just awoken in the middle of the night next to Bernadetta. 

The spacious room yawned open into the darkness, distances and mundane shapes made unfamiliar from the lack of light. The bed was tilted in a familiar way under Ferdinand’s body, like Bernadetta was lying next to him, but the bed wasn’t warm. He turned over to see what was there. 

Bernadetta’s face stared past him, eyes as unfocused and glassy as a child’s marble. When he stirred, the sheets felt damp and cold. Some of the fabric stuck to his fingers with something wet as he moved to touch Bernadetta. Actually, his bed clothes were wet, too. Slimy, almost. The fear gripping his chest made him catch his breath, and then he heard dripping. Dripping coming from the edge of their bed. He ripped off the sheets.

There was a pond of blood, with little fleshy islands spread across the darkened fabric. The largest mound sat in a pithy lump between his wife’s legs. At first, the sight made no sense to him. It was a pattern of objects and sensations that he couldn’t comprehend. It was like running one’s eyes over whorls in wood and not being able to find a meaning. 

All at once, an ineffable terror made him start to recoil away, and he pulled a lung-full of air into his body so fast it was almost painful. He writhed away from Bernadetta and the spongy quagmire of blood, and fell off the bed. The dark surprise of the fall reached through Ferdinand’s nightmare and into his real body, dragging him to wakefulness. 

When he came to his senses, he felt his legs elevated and damp. Ferdinand opened his eye. A couple of orderlies were changing his bandages with new, freshly wet ones. His throat felt sore, like he had been trying to talk.

“Please try to calm down, lad. I will send for more pain medicine,” said one orderly, an older man. Ferdinand’s breathing gradually slowed. Ah… Just a dream. Thank the Goddess, just a nightmare. The sweet medicine came soon after, in big, glossy spoonfuls. It lapped away at his constant pain, but never devoured it all.

After the nightmare, several more days passed with the same routine of turning over, changing bandages, feeding, and pain medicine. As time wore on, seconds to minutes to hours to days, Ferdinand felt like his personality was eroding away because of the constant pain. It was so often all he could think about. The healers gave him less medicine over time too, muttering something about supplies running low.

Ferdinand found that he couldn’t bring himself to accept that he was lost, that he would never see Bernadetta or his friends again, that he would never meet his child. He couldn’t abide the thought that he would soon be just another war corpse to be buried and forgotten. His further attempts at communication proved just as fruitless as before. The healers, never quite understanding him, must have grown tired of his feeble mumblings, since they never even glanced at him as he struggled to talk. 

As long hours followed long hours, he felt his left side become even more pained, and the flesh swell like yeasty dough. Behind the pain of the burns, he now felt the warm discomfort of fever. As the healers slowly chipped away at his burns with their brief sessions of healing, his skin began to itch badly. Of course, he was not strong enough to move his hands in a position to scratch himself, and even if he were, his fingertips were blunted by bandages. To his disappointment, the fever never blessed his overloaded mind with delirium.

All he could do was think about the pain, or try to focus on praying, or think about what Bernadetta and his friends were likely doing without him. How was Bernadetta dealing with the news of his death? Was she eating enough? What was Eld going to do now that his master, whom he had served faithfully for almost 20 years, was gone? Would Lorenz be able to make another friend he could talk to about the stress of his position? If the child was born safely and was a boy, would they name him after Ferdinand? How would the child deal with ruling his territory, and the multitudes of people in it, at a young age? Would Bernadetta be able to handle ruling alone for years on end? 

Ferdinand’s eye meandered like a dying fly over the boards in the ceiling. He was on the verge of naming the planks, but he couldn’t concentrate enough. The discolored strakes of wood above his sickbed were now a fixture of his world, as unflinching and inevitable as the blue in the sky and the night following the day.

When he was able to sleep the nights after his infection began, he was plagued by disjointed nightmares. In some, he was back at the Aegir estate, lying on the floor, paralyzed, as insects ate him alive and the corpse of a Slitherer mage danced in front of him, limbs crunching and oozing. In others he was outside a locked room, unable to enter, as he heard Bernadetta and a child screaming inside. None felt quite as real as the one about his mother and Bernadetta, mercifully, but bad enough to make him dread sleep as much as the pain and itchiness of being conscious.

One day, upon awakening, he heard an unusual commotion. A multitude of groans and furniture shifting could be heard through the narrow rooms. Eventually, some healers came in to the now almost empty room Ferdinand occupied, and stopped in front of the cot of the other remaining casualty.

“Do you think he can handle being moved to the better infirmary?” one of them, a young woman, asked.

“Are you kidding me? Of course not! He’s at death’s door!” the other one, an older man, said. “We’ll have to leave him here. We have to prioritize people who stand a chance.” The two moved away, shoes scuffling across the ground, sounding like they were carrying a heavy burden.

Of course… he should have guessed that the place he was in was only temporary. The noisy process of removing the other injured people out of the makeshift infirmary lasted all day. Some of the orderlies helping move more fortunate casualties shot him pitying looks as they processed through the rooms, bearing their groaning human weights. Before long, an uneasy lull dampened the air in the infirmary. Ferdinand could only occasionally hear one person groaning in other rooms. There was nobody left where he could see.

The day after most of the other patients were moved, he only saw the one remaining healer once. He was a young man, about Ferdinand’s age or a little younger, and of an ordinary description. He always looked nervous, and took a longer time to carry out tasks, like he was trying to remember the steps of what he was supposed to do.

The young healer sometimes awkwardly met Ferdinand’s eye, and looked away quickly. He never told Ferdinand his name. Not that the other healers before this one did, but this healer was mostly alone with him, and with the other man who was left there. It grated against Ferdinand’s sensibilities. He didn’t want to be alone with someone for hours, someone who was caring for him, and not know his name. Imagine if Ferdinand were to die, and the last person at his side was a stranger whose name he should know...

And in his heart, Ferdinand was beginning to feel his end approaching. Day by day it was harder to even slightly move a finger, or to concentrate. The new healer turned him less and fed him less. His bandages dried and brittled with serum and blood, so even twitching was too difficult. He was wasting away, while the infection endured. He had only made it this far in this state because of his crest, but even that power was finite. Soon, the strength he inherited from his fortunate birth would no longer be enough to keep his soul united with his body. 

Each time the young healer entered his sickroom, Ferdinand looked to his face for some greater concern, and down to his hands searching for pain medicine, or even just more food than he was usually brought. Any reason to rekindle his dying hope. Any reason to think that his final moments wouldn’t be staring at the thin ceiling whose wooden slats he was on the point of naming. That never came. Ferdinand began to feel, with a cold weight in his stomach, that his story was drawing to a close.

Ferdinand had always imagined that when he died, heroically on a battlefield or as a wizened old man surrounded by his wife and future children, that he would feel the company of his ancestors. They would permeate the air, pressing around him, their numinous presence comforting him even if the fear of death made him feel alone as he slipped away. Not so. Ferdinand only felt hollow, and the world seemed to stretch out infinitely, an empty maze of lonely sickrooms with himself as the sole occupant. No movement of people surrounding him, only the quivering sway of the shadows of bare tree branches cast onto the ceiling. The only noise was his ragged breathing and the murmur of the wind beyond the walls.

Each exhale he imagined dissipating into the air of the vast world. His dying breath might someday be brought into the lungs of a king, or perhaps a fisherman, or even an animal of the field. But none would ever know, or care. As he stumbled through his prayers in his head, he wondered how many more thoughts he had left before he wound down into death. Goddess…Bernadetta...please… my child...my people... protect… As he prayed, he felt like he was using up the dregs of his mind. 

The thirst and pain was seeping away, and a dead weight, the feeling of stillness, crept in. Ferdinand wept, and wished, through his prayers, for someone to dry his tears. He wanted to at least see another human one last time. Perhaps someone would find Ferdinand on his catafalque of straw and cloth and dress him in clothes before burying him. As he waited for the young healer to return, his thoughts drifted further and further apart.

***

The muffled sound of movement came from the next room, where the other injured man had fallen silent hours before. Shoes scraping across the rotten wooden floor, and muttering:

“...believe that….” The voice belonged to Linhardt. The shock was so great that Ferdinand stopped weeping. All at once the world didn’t seem so desolate and empty. The long shadows of the trees twitching across the ceiling didn’t seem so skeletal, and the disjointed prayers for his friends, family and subjects ceased their confused train through his thoughts. The burning thirst Ferdinand felt leapt to the forefront of his mind, like it knew that it could soon be quenched.

The door swung open, ushering in the air of the separate sickroom. The artificial breeze did not warm him, but the change lent him some needed strength. Before he heard Linhardt say anything, Ferdinand forgot himself for a time, and tried to smile at his friend. He saw Linhardt in a swimming half-vision and began mustering the last of his strength to speak. The fingertips of his right hand even fluttered a little. 

Linhardt was accompanied by the young healer, who was looking even more cowed than usual. Linhardt turned his head to face Ferdinand. His friend… his friend was there. Ferdinand parted his lips to speak, and tried to stir his hand so he could reach out. Linhardt’s eyes widened in shock for a second, then he resumed his usual placid expression. 

“This patient… where did you find him again?” he said. Linhardt’s tone at the end of his question was raised more than usual, more urgent.

“They said he was from the blast at the old mill house. We couldn’t do much for him, my lord,” he said in a hushed voice. “Er… would you like to go to another room?” Linhardt abruptly stopped in front of the young healer’s face and fully turned to look at Ferdinand. Linhardt put his right hand on his left elbow and raised a hand to his face, narrowing his eyes. Ferdinand then noticed that Linhardt was dressed in black mourning clothes.

“How long has he been here? Fourteen days?” he asked. Again a hard note of urgency entered his voice at the end of his question.

“Y-yes, my lord. We didn’t expect him to last much longer a few days ago, so we didn’t move him with the others.” The young healer backed up behind Linhardt and towards the door opposite the one they had entered in.

“So you haven’t been healing him with magic at all? Giving him pain medicine? What about his bandages?” Linhardt stepped closer. Ferdinand couldn’t reach up his hand, and made a hoarse wheezing sound in the back of his throat in frustration. The young healer stiffened up and locked his gaze to the floor.

“...No, my lord. I don't know magic, my lord.” Ferdinand almost couldn’t hear him. Linhardt took a few steps more. As Linhardt drew closer, the placid mask he wore was slipping. His green eyes widened again and the skin around his nose scrunched up. Ferdinand could smell his lavender cologne as he approached closely enough. The only pleasant thing Ferdinand had smelled in what felt like a lifetime. He felt dizzy at the sensation.

“To have lived this long… This man must have a crest,” Linhardt said, and kneeled next to Ferdinand’s head. Ferdinand could no longer see him then, though he heard him murmur something. A hand was laid very gingerly on his chest, and a soothing warmth melted through his body. The pain eating up his senses was already loosening its grip. How Ferdinand had missed the feeling of healing magic.

“H-he… what?” said the young healer. Ferdinand thought he might have heard frenzied whispers follow this sentence, but couldn’t quite understand them through the bandages. Linhardt’s magic swelled in strength, and fresh energy stirred in Ferdinand. He needed to speak. Now was his best chance.

“L-lin...har..t,” Ferdinand breathed out. Saying that seemed to drain him, and his shallow breaths quickened as if he had just run.

After his death rattle of a word, silence reigned. It was like his ugly voice had pushed out all the air in the room. Ferdinand could hear Linhardt breathe in sharply, and he didn’t hear him breathe out for several seconds. If… if Linhardt was so surprised, did that mean that he recognized his voice? Ferdinand’s heart lurched into a sickening flutter. He was half excited and half scared. A small part of him hoped that it was only the bandages blocking out the sound of his friend’s breathing, and that he didn’t recognize his voice. He wanted to survive, but for his friend to recognize that the horror of stained bandages and burned flesh before them was Ferdinand was next to death itself. 

He heard a choked bark of a laugh, quickly cut off. Then a short sob, aborted just as swiftly. Ferdinand’s heart turned to lead.

“You know… I wrote... I told her it was over for you quickly in the blast. I told Bernadetta… that you probably didn’t feel a thing before you died, no pain at all…” Linhardt said, almost whispering. 

The emotions of being recognized and receiving pain-soothing healing again were already making Ferdinand’s heart race as much as it could, but the mention of his wife, he gasped. It was faint and softly wheezing, but all he could manage. Linhardt closed his eyes and exhaled. For a few seconds he kept himself blind to Ferdinand, then opened his eyes again. His expression was then his usual placid mien. He turned to the young healer.

“Halle. Go outside and get the Count as quickly as you can, and any of his servants you can see. Tell them that I’ve found Ferdinand alive,” Linhardt said. His composure sounded forced. Count? Could it be Lorenz? But what reason would he have to come here, anymore? Had they not fully driven Those Who Slithered in the Dark out? “Or can you manage to remember a simple name? If ‘Ferdinand’ falls through the sieve in your head on the way over, you can just call him Duke Aegir.” Halle spluttered. Linhardt continued, “And be sure to warn the Count that Ferdinand is almost dead before he comes in here.” Halle ran out.

“I’m sorry, Ferdinand,” Linhardt said, and began gently testing at a fold in Ferdinand’s bandages on the shoulder with his hand. When Linhardt tugged at them, the pulling was painful, even through the healing magic. “When Lorenz gets here, we’ll have to get you out of these. They’re bone dry and filthy.” For a time Ferdinand tried to bask in the palliative energy of the healing and not think about Linhardt staring at him. Or Lorenz, or anyone else who knew who he was. 

Eventually, raised voiced drifted in from outside. He recognized Lorenz’s tones immediately. Ferdinand began to pray to the Goddess that he would faint on the spot; he didn’t want to be awake for this. Linhardt seemed to notice Ferdinand’s breathing intensifying again, and he wrinkled his brow, intensifying his healing in return.

“I can’t keep this up forever, but we’ll find pain medicine soon. Don’t worry. I’m going to try, unlike that cretin Halle.” Linhardt said. Soon Ferdinand heard more distinguishable words from the next room. 

“He’s almost dead? Did Lin- the Count von Hevring say whether he could save him?” Lorenz’s voice was urgent, and it sounded like he was right next to the door into the room.

“N-no my lord. I mean, he didn’t say, my lord,” Halle answered. 

“Come in, Lorenz. I need your help,” Linhardt called out. Ferdinand began to pray even harder to faint as a black-sleeved arm opened the door.

Lorenz’s familiar face glided into view. His eyes wide and brows bunched in concern, and dried streaks of tears painted his cheeks. He was wearing a black suit, and no rose adorned any article of his clothing. There was no armor, so surely they had driven the Slitherers out of the area. At least he had not failed in that. 

Lorenz’s eyes drifted down to where Ferdinand was laying, and then around the room in confusion. Out of the corner of his eye, Ferdinand saw Linhardt incline his head. Lorenz fixed his eyes on Ferdinand, and a dawning horror spread them wide. 

“Oh Ferdinand…” he said, and drifted into dismayed silence. 

“Lorenz. I need you to help keep him awake,” Linhardt said gently. Lorenz nodded and knelt down on the side of Ferdinand’s bed opposite Linhardt. Ferdinand thanked the goddess that it was his blind side that Lorenz chose. Linhardt addressed Halle then.

“You. I need two tubs of clean water. Both large enough to put the Duke in. If you think that’s too hard, get one of my servants to help you.” Halle hastily bowed and ran out.

“I’m so sorry my friend. I didn’t mean to leave you here alone. I had no idea. We killed the last of those…monsters… But you were still here, suffering. I swear to you, I had no idea. I should have looked harder. Please forgive me, Ferdinand,” Lorenz said. It sounded like he was crying. A new hand was laid on his shoulder on his left side. An alleviating energy pulsed out of it. 

“Lorenz, I must ask you to stop your healing for now. You need to save your energy for when I’m resting. We have to last until more healers arrive,” Linhardt said. 

“Oh… I see. Very well,” Lorenz replied. The soothing feeling from Lorenz’s hand stopped, but he didn’t take his hand from Ferdinand’s shoulder. Lorenz wasn’t afraid to be near him now? “Don’t worry, Ferdinand. We won’t leave you alone,” he said. Despite the healing magic and the fresh hope, Ferdinand was finding it hard to keep his eye open. Perhaps closing it for a second would be alright. 

As soon as he began to give up the effort to keep his eyelid up, though, Linhardt took notice. 

“No! Don’t let yourself sleep! Not yet!” Ferdinand didn’t think he remembered Linhardt ever shouting. A new surge of healing energy jolted from Linhardt’s hands, and Ferdinand opened his eye again. He could only manage to keep it half open most of the time, though. “Lorenz, that idiot may take too long. See if you can find drinking water in another room.” At once, Lorenz’s hand left Ferdinand’s shoulder. He heard a stool clatter, and footsteps leading into the next room. If he needed to keep awake to live now, perhaps he needed to think of a question to try to ask. Maybe the focus would rally his strength enough to buy him more time. He floundered around in his thoughts, trying to form a coherent question about Bernadetta in his mind. Not that he’d be able to ask the whole thing anyway.

Before long, he heard a door swing open and rapid footsteps. A cup was pressed against his lips urgently, and the delightful, cool taste of water entered his mouth. 

“Please, stay with us! Ferdinand, stay with us,” Lorenz said, almost shouting. After he had swallowed the water, Ferdinand parted his lips again and took a shuddering breath.

“...a..dett...a…” Ferdinand breathed out. Lorenz placed his hand on Ferdinand’s shoulder again.

“After we killed the enemy, I sent a wyvern messenger to my wife. I asked Leonie to go to her. I believe Dorothea went to Bernadetta, too,” Lorenz said.

“Yes, I wrote to my wife to go comfort Bernadetta as soon as I had the opportunity,” Linhardt said. Ferdinand exhaled in relief. So she hadn’t been completely alone after all. 

Leonie didn’t know Bernadetta quite as well, but they were at least friendly. And at the mention of Dorothea Ferdinand felt even more relieved. She and his wife were good friends, and the only way to get Bernadetta to travel to Enbarr with him was often the promise of visiting Dorothea at the opera. Dorothea was such a good healer, too. If Bernadetta or the baby had problems, she probably would notice. 

Ferdinand had to be sure before he could stop worrying, though. He drew another laborious breath for another word fragment. Lorenz leaned in close, his ear turned to Ferdinand.

“B..a...by?” he asked. Before an answer came, the sound of water sloshing emanated from the next room. Soon, Halle and a well-dressed man Ferdinand recognized as Lorenz’s valet entered carrying a hammered tin tub. Halle’s face was as white as a burial shroud. As Lorenz’s valet entered the sickroom, his eyes jolted open and his shoulders flinched. The water in the tub sloshed some more.

“All right. Now set it down and get to finding another one,” Linhardt said. As the two left, another man entered, wearing clean clothes and a gleaming metal pin. Ferdinand couldn’t see it clearly, but he knew the pin was shaped like the Crest of Cethleann. The man made no reaction to the sight of Ferdinand. “Excellent. Bleier, please start boiling that. I wouldn’t trust the water around here,” Linhardt said. 

The servant’s hands began to glow with a red light, and he kneeled out of the range of Ferdinand’s sight. Steam began to warm the room.

“I’m sorry Ferdinand. I haven’t received any news about your baby,” Lorenz said, “I am certain that Bernadetta and the baby are being very well looked-after.” This lack of news did little to dispel Ferdinand’s worries. After so long helpless and lying in pain, with nothing to do but worry, it was hard to stop fretting.

“That should work, Bleier. Now cool the water,” Linhardt ordered. The steam dissipated. “Thank you. Now a cup of water for the Duke before we use the tub.” Bleier rose again, retrieved the vessel Lorenz had found, and brought Ferdinand a brimming cupful of water. It was the perfect temperature. Ferdinand gulped it down. 

“Lorenz, you lift his legs. Bleier, get his torso,” Linhardt said. Ferdinand heard shuffling, and the pressure of Lorenz’s hand disappeared. It was replaced with firm hands under his shoulders. Lorenz soon appeared at the foot of his bed, looking as pale as Halle had earlier. 

They were going to move him. The thought of being somewhere other than that blood-permeated cot thrilled Ferdinand. He would be out of bed. Linhardt seemed to notice his change in breathing.

“Be gentle,” Linhardt cautioned. When he was lifted, the fabric of the cot stuck to his bandages. Linhardt swore and ceased healing. Ferdinand groaned. “I know, I know,” Linhardt said in response, moving his hands off Ferdinand to pull the bloodied fabric as Ferdinand was suspended off the cot. A sickening tearing noise accompanied the painful tugging at the bandages. Ferdinand looked away from Lorenz’s face, but heard his breathing get shaky.

“Goddess have mercy...have mercy,” Lorenz said quietly. 

After the separation, though, there came the thrilling sensation of air on his back. Ferdinand’s thoughts were dizzied even more as he was lowered into the lukewarm water in the tub, and water was poured over his head.

“Ah… ah…” Ferdinand didn’t know what he was trying to say. Linhardt’s flow of healing energy resumed to soothe Ferdinand’s discomfort. The water was stirred into minute ebbs and flows as Bleier worked on taking off the now-wet bandages. He could feel the pressure from his infection slipping away, even. The bliss of the water was only soured by dead silence from Lorenz. He was statue-still as Linhardt and Bleier murmured to each other and moved their hands over Ferdinand’s bandages.

Ferdinand barely noticed when the second tub was brought in. Linhardt ordered Lorenz to do the same process of boiling and then cooling the water, but Lorenz still remained quiet as he performed this task.

“How often did you feed the Duke? When did he last eat?” Linhardt asked. There was no answer for at least five breaths. 

“...Once every other day, my lord,” answered Halle faintly, from a place Ferdinand couldn’t see him. Lorenz slowly turned his head up to look at where Halle’s voice has come from. His eyes were shining with tears, and mouth was twitching into a snarl. Confronted with the reality of the unrecognizable body of his best friend only feet away, and of his treatment, his practiced decorum was breaking down. 

“If the gap was no longer than-“ Linhardt began in a calm voice. Lorenz stood abruptly, a trail of steam still coming from his hand. Ferdinand saw Halle as he tried to back through the door, and then Lorenz stalking after him. Halle’s face was almost as pale as the whites of his eyes. Ferdinand wasn’t sure what he would normally think about Halle if he weren’t so close to death, but then he felt no satisfaction at seeing Halle like that. Lorenz drew his right hand back, and held it in the air for a perilous second. 

“I didn't know he could survive! I thought it would be a waste to feed him every-“ Halle blurted out.

There was a flash of movement as Lorenz brought his palm across Halle’s face, and followed all the way through. Linhardt had already eased the crusted bandages off Ferdinand’s ears, so the sound of the slap rang with a decisive clarity. Halle swayed back, so Ferdinand couldn’t see him anymore.

“You- you-” Lorenz yelled, and raised his hand again. That was enough. Ferdinand channeled the pain of the old bandage being peeled off his neck to muster the energy to let out a distressed half-cry, half-cough. Lorenz turned his head, but not enough to look back at Ferdinand. Lorenz’s palm clenched into a fist and lowered to Lorenz’s side. In lieu of striking Halle again, Lorenz began to scream at the man.

“You coward! How is it a-” Lorenz took a sharp breath in, “waste? How is it a waste to give a suffering person food?” Halle was still in earshot; his low sobbing a refrain to the otherwise complete silence after Lorenz shouted.

Lorenz stood there for a few breaths, shoulders shaking, then stepped back to the new tub of water to continue its boiling. 

“If the gap was no longer than a day, then feeding him now shouldn’t bring the risk of refeeding syndrome. Good… All the magic in the world can’t completely heal him if his body doesn’t have the nutrients to make more skin,” Linhardt continued in his detached tone. Soon, Linhardt and Bleier completely freed him from his fetid bandages, and soaked the larger pieces of dried filth off. “Stop crying, idiot, and find another servant of mine. We need better pain medicine. And food,” Linhardt said. The sobbing ebbed away as Halle retreated. 

The second tub, as it turned out, was for more washing. Having nothing in between his burned skin and the water heightened the sensation of ebbing and flowing as Linhardt and his assistant cleaned him and moved their hands about. Ferdinand couldn’t truly feel clean, not when he was raw all over. Lorenz’s face was drawn, and he faced away from the vulnerable scene in the tub. The floor creaked with each of Linhardt and Bleier’s movements. The wind, which Ferdinand had thought would carry away his soul that day, gently pressed the thin walls into creaking. When sections of old bandage were taken out of the lukewarm water, the corrupt stench of pus got stronger.

“Everyone will be relieved to hear of your survival,” Lorenz said. He quickly made eye contact with Ferdinand. The guilt Ferdinand had seen in Lorenz’s eyes before hadn’t left. He couldn’t clearly remember when he had seen Lorenz with a guilty expression before that day. The cold hand of shame gripped Ferdinand’s heart at the sight. He almost couldn’t abide knowing he was the cause of such a reaction. Depending on whether he survived much longer, he still might not abide it. Lorenz averted his gaze again and sighed. 

“As soon as that group of Slitherers was killed, I started my journey back here. We had to chase them for a long time. I’m sorry that it took me so long. I didn’t know,” Lorenz said. At the repetition of Lorenz’s assurance that he didn’t know, he looked back at Ferdinand, then away again.

“I haven’t had detailed news on the King’s or the Prof- the Archbishop’s reactions to the battle here, or the news of your death.The false report of your death, that is. The Archbishop, I heard, was distraught. As everyone should be,” Lorenz said. He turned to a rough spool of new bandages that were destined for Ferdinand and began unraveling them. “The King is convinced that he needs to focus on wiping out Those Who Slither now. ...As am I,” Lorenz continued. Ferdinand wanted to smile at this news, but only exhaled through his nose. Fódlan couldn’t know unity or true peace while those monsters were still out there. It needed King Dimitri’s full attention. 

While Lorenz was speaking, Linhardt and Bleier has finished Ferdinand’s bathing. Ferdinand hadn’t noticed more servants entering, either, and when they drifted into view, he could barely follow their movements with his eye. He didn’t think he could hold himself in the waking world much longer, even if he was finally hearing his best friend’s voice again. 

Through the thickening fog of Ferdinand’s mind, Lorenz continued talking. Linhard and Bleier wrapped Ferdinand in clean, wet bandages, and they carried him into the next room. He hoped Lorenz was giving him good news about Bernadetta even though Ferdinand couldn’t focus enough to understand him then. 

The change of ceiling overhead was enchanting. He never thought he would see anything other than the wooden slats above his former sickbed for the rest of his life. These ones were much the same, but they may as well have been made of carved gold. Just being in a different room gave him hope. When they gently laid him down, the bed seemed to have a thick layer of cloth over the scratchy straw stuffing. It smelled clean, too.

Someone was shaking his shoulder, and pressing a drink to his mouth. It was almost sickly sweet, like the pain medicine the village healers had, but stronger. He drank it greedily. The shaking of his shoulder continued until he opened his eye enough to see a bowl full of blue seedy paste. It smelled like berries. Right… He couldn’t live through the night even if he was in better spirits. He still needed food to keep his soul and body together. He valiantly worked his jaw to eat the bowl of berry paste with the last of his consciousness, and the voices of his more fortunate friends lulled him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's more angst for you, Iconodule! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> It makes sense to me for there to be some sort of serious consequence for not properly dealing with Those Who Slither by the end of Azure Moon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescued from certain death and an unmarked grave by his friends, Ferdinand begins his road to recovery. But now that he had been discovered to be alive, he will have to face those who care about him with his new appearance.

In his febrile dreams, Ferdinand began to smell fresh bread with butter. It persisted through the various scenes of remembered pain and violence his mind played for him and tempted him further towards consciousness.

As he came closer to regaining his senses, he felt someone shaking him. An urgent voice was muffled and faint in the background, but steadily grew louder.

“Wake up! Wake up! You can’t die now,” the voice said. Ferdinand became aware of the position of his hands first (right flat and left curled into a claw, as usual). The surface he rested on was pliable and soft, and he was warm. The sensation of his body grew from there, and he began moving his hands weakly. 

Ferdinand wondered if he had dreamed the day before, and whether the smell of food and the call of someone wanting him to awake was a dream, too. He might as well find out. Ferdinand ventured to open his eye.

Lorenz’s face filled Ferdinand’s vision, his eyes distorted with a thin veil of tears. His expression had changed when Ferdinand opened his eye. He was breaking into a wide smile. 

“Thank the goddess! Ferdinand, we thought you would never wake up again!” Lorenz said. Ferdinand still felt Lorenz’s hand on his shoulder, and could still smell food. The reality of his rescue sunk in.

Lorenz leaned back, allowing Ferdinand to see a table covered in small dishes of simple foods. Bread, butter, jam, and a pot of tea. Ferdinand saw a string near his right hand that was attached to a bell. Lorenz took his hand off the bed, too. When the bed shifted, no straw scratched against him. Lorenz or Linhardt must have bought a wool mattress from someone in the village.

“I don’t know if you remember what I said yesterday, but you can’t heal properly until you get nutrients,” Linhardt said. Ferdinand looked around in time to see Linhardt in a corner, gesturing tiredly to the food. The smell of warm bread and butter came to the forefront of Ferdinand’s thoughts again. He could see a jug of water there, too. Without further preamble, Linhardt picked up a buttered and jam-spread slice of bread.

Ferdinand had almost forgotten the taste of bread. The taste of it was shocking, but so full and glutinous after what seemed like a lifetime of gruel. It took him a long time to eat his food, but that gave him more time to savor it. Ferdinand was so excited to eat well again that he didn't even think about his friends staring at him. The water Linhardt helped him drink in between slices of buttered and jam-spread bread was just as sweet as it had been when he was last awake.

While Ferdinand was fed, Lorenz looked away, folding his hands on his lap. Only when Linhardt was finished did Lorenz make eye contact again to venture to speak to Ferdinand again.

“As soon as you fell asleep yesterday, I hired a courier. I just couldn’t wait,” Lorenz said, “I had to inform Bernadetta and everyone else of the good news of your survival. I’m sure your wife will know that you live in a few days.” 

Ferdinand felt something in his soul relax, like a hand had been clenched around his heart, and finally unwound. He let out as much of a sigh as he could muster. Ferdinand had trouble imagining the magnitude of surprise Bernadetta would feel upon receiving the news. Every little surprise for him seemed to be ten times as surprising for her. And after the initial shock and relief, she would want to come and… see him. Ferdinand wondered how well Lorenz had warned Bernadetta of his condition. 

“In a week, I’m sure you’ll be reunited!” Lorenz said, offering up a weak smile. Ferdinand devoutly wished to see Bernadetta again, and to know the baby was in good health. However, he could see Bernadetta’s joyous face, already tempered with caution, give away to horror. 

Ferdinand moved his lips, trying to convey these thoughts to Lorenz. Trying to talk was already a lot less painful, but he wasn’t at the point of being able to speak. Seeing Ferdinand beginning to talk, Lorenz jolted up and leaned in.

“What is it, my friend?” he said. Ferdinand soon gave up on trying to verbalize his concerns. Under Lorenz’s watchful eyes, he strained his disused muscles, slowly covering his face with his hand. Moving his arm did not hurt anymore. Ferdinand’s heart thrilled at this, despite the image of Bernadetta’s frightened face still in his mind’s eye. Finally, Ferdinand finished his maneuver with his arm. Lorenz sighed. “Ah. I see. You should try not to worry too much about that. She is your wife, and I know that she loves you. Besides, Linhardt and Flayn will help you,” he said. Flayn? She was going to see him too? As if he read Ferdinand’s thoughts, Lorenz smiled and added “Oh yes! I was getting to that. I also hired a wyvern courier to fetch Flayn and Seteth from Enbarr. They should already have received my message.”

That piece of news miraculously brightened even Ferdinand’s outlook. Perhaps he could look like himself again. Flayn looked like a small child, but she never aged over five years, so he had quietly decided that she was most likely not actually a child. If Flayn were as young as she looked, Ferdinand would feel guilty about her treating him. But more than that, she was an expert healer, had the major crest of Cethleann, and the Caduceus Staff. Perhaps she, wielding the instrument of a saint, would be enough to make it possible to look in a mirror again.

***

Ferdinand awoke the next day to the smell of warm sausage and bread. The savory aroma of smoked meat washed over him. He hadn’t known how much he missed it. Ferdinand kept his eye closed to savor the bouquet.

“I can never express the debt of gratitude I owe to you, Linhardt. If you hadn’t investigated the infirmary, Ferdinand would have died right here, within our grasp but unknown,” Lorenz said close by.

“Well, I’ll be grateful when more healers arrive so I can get a nice, long rest,” Linhardt yawned, “And especially when I have the Caduceus Staff in my hands again. Also, did you say that Seteth has both the Shield of Ochain and the Spear of Assal? Ferdinand really gave him the Shield?” 

Yes. Yes Ferdinand had, a month ago. Or was it two months? He didn’t truly remember how long he had been like this. 

“Yes,” Lorenz answered for Ferdinand, “He told me that it felt like it was Seteth’s in the first place, and Seteth was assigned to investigate Those Who Slither near Enbarr.” That was also true. When Ferdinand had handed the Shield of Ochain to Seteth, it felt right. For some reason, handing the strange priest the holy Shield that his father had formerly displayed with pride in the ducal mansion added an edge of serenity to his usual increased energy when near Seteth.

“If only Ferdinand had kept the Shield…” Linhardt said. Ferdinand heard a heavy sigh and fabric shifting from Lorenz’s direction.

“Please do not say that. It doesn’t do to think of how things could be better. He lives now. I don’t want to think of the alternatives, whether they be better or worse,” Lorenz said. “Now, I’m going to wake him. He needs to eat.” Ferdinand waited until Lorenz had shaken him gently a few times to open his eye. His friend was leaning over his bed, somehow smiling while looking into Ferdinand’s face. He still couldn’t understand how Lorenz could look at him like that when Ferdinand looked so hideous.

“Good morning, my friend! We were able to find some more protein for you today! It may not be up to your usual standards, but it will help,” Lorenz said. Ferdinand accepted all the food and pain medicine-laced tea that Linhardt and Lorenz brought to his lips eagerly. The taste of food, not gruel, but nutritious food made him forget himself and his predicament. He didn’t even remember what the rich food he was accustomed to in the past tasted like, so he had no trouble enjoying it.

After Ferdinand consumed the food, he lay in a contented trance, his eye partially closed. Lorenz had begun to talk about something, but drifted off into silence once he saw his drowsiness. Ferdinand felt Lorenz pat his hand, and as he fully closed his eye, soft footsteps led out of the sickroom.

Seteth... When he was at Garreg Mach, being near Seteth sparked a strange sense in him. It has the same force as a small amount of healing magic, but it didn’t feel warm. It was like the elatement of flying through the air and knowing that you’d land alright. Or like seeing a familiar face in a crowd after being lost. It gave him a great boost of confidence. When Ferdinand heard that Seteth had a major crest of Cichol, it all made sense. Crests of the same saint or hero were known to resonate with each other, especially when one of them was a major crest.

He had gone to Seteth once, frothing over with excitement, and talked to him at length about Cichol and how much of an honor and responsibility it was to bear his crest. When Ferdinand asked Seteth about his experiences, though, he seemed to be patiently polite and only gave answers that anyone could read about in a book about crests. Any further attempts at crest discussion with Seteth were met with awkward deflectment. When Seteth shooed him away, the excited feeling he got changed to instinctual intimidation. Ferdinand imagined that it must be like what a puppy would feel when coming face to face with a wolf.

Still, if he had been feeling discouraged at school, he knew to get sort of near Seteth for a magical morale boost. Before the Battle of Eagle and Lion, he had even made sure to file into the field near where Rhea and Seteth were perched. Ferdinand hoped that when Seteth arrived, the power of crest resonance would help him heal in some way. Linhardt probably felt the same thing when Flayn was around, too.

Ferdinand had two more large meals that day, and each one sustained the long sessions of healing he received from Linhardt and the few healers that he had brought with him. The renewed humiliation of being turned over and of his bandages being changed, even with Lorenz being absent from the room or looking away, embittered the hope that had begun to well up inside him. 

Ferdinand always closed his eye when it was time, not wanting to see them see him. For a few more days the routine was the same. Food and healing magic lifted his spirits and made him feel more and more alive, like the Linhardt’s healers held him up when they stripped him of his bandages still stained with serum. Sweet medicine slipped into tea pushed the pain down. But each time Ferdinand experienced these comforts, he knew that soon strangers would be peeling his covering open to reveal his disgusting form. As much hope as Seteth and Flayn’s impending arrival gave him, Ferdinand couldn’t help but think of the stares of two more people he knew seeing his shame.

Ferdinand heard them before he saw them. Lorenz was telling him about a poem he had been writing, and the wind began to murmur louder. The pleased snorts of a landed wyvern and the treble whickering of a pegasus reached Ferdinand’s ears. Some quiet exclamations from people outside joined the animal noises, and Lorenz jolted even straighter upright. Before Ferdinand’s muddled mind could start working on what the sounds could mean, Lorenz bolted to look out the window.

“It’s Seteth and Flayn! Thank the Goddess!” Lorenz shouted. He dusted off his jacket and trousers with his hands quickly, and moved to the head of Ferdinand’s sickbed on his blind side to place a hand on his shoulder. There were a few polite knocks on the door before Heath, Lorenz’s middle-aged and dignified valet, stepped in to announce the arrival of Seteth and Flayn.

“My lords, Sete-” Heath began, but a flash of green hair scurried past him before he could finish his sentence. Flayn stopped short of the foot of Ferdinand’s bed and peered over the edge, eyes widened. Lorenz belatedly stood up from his chair in greeting.

“We came as soon as we got the message!” Flayn said, and moved over to the side where Ferdinand could see. Remarkably unmoved for someone who looked so young. Wasting no time, Flayn raised the gleaming silver Caduceus Staff over the edge of the bed and rested it on the shoulder that Lorenz wasn’t patting. 

Ferdinand felt a rise of vitality in his spirit before he heard Seteth’s purposeful footsteps. Seteth strode into the room to join his little sister, bearing the familiar Shield of Ochain and the Spear of Assal in his hands. The holy relics that Seteth held glinted blue in the growing sunlight. Seteth’s face flashed into a mask of shock and pity, but just as soon assumed a look of studied composure. Before Seteth could say anything though, a surge of soothing magic that came from the holy staff laid on his chest engulfed him. The serenity streaming into him almost made Ferdinand immediately fall asleep. He didn’t even hear Seteth’s greeting, although he could tell that his tone was concerned. 

Before Ferdinand knew what was happening, he saw Seteth wrap the head of the Spear of Assal in a blanket, and then lay it on the bed next to Ferdinand, so that part of the exposed haft was touching his hip. The Shield of Ochain, the object Ferdinand had gazed up at in awe almost every day growing up, was placed carefully over the spear, also touching his hip. 

Whatever mystical energy Ferdinand remembered feeling in the past when near Seteth was nothing compared to this. His body, frail as it was, soaked in the power even more greedily, and his consciousness was swept up instantly in eddies and whorls of dizzying giddiness. His eye saw no new objects in his vision, but the energy from the Spear, Shield, and Seteth together Ferdinand perceived at once like the warmest bath and the gentle glowing of the sun through a tree’s leaves during the golden hours. He couldn’t talk then, but if he could, he would be babbling with elation. Then, his breathing only quickened, and he made some vocalizations he didn’t try to form into words.

“Hhe-ha... ghh...nnhh” he gasped out. The pain was completely gone then. Its absence, after his long days of torture, was a shock. His mind and senses, now buoyant after the heavy weight on them was annihilated, reeled. It was too much for him to take in. Ferdinand’s consciousness relaxed, and he fell into a dreamless darkness.

***

“It’s going to be alright. I’m helping you now,” Flayn would tell Ferdinand often as she healed him. Ferdinand could only blink slowly in response at first. She squinted and furrowed her brows with concentration, seemingly immune to the sight of burned and regrowing flesh. Ferdinand didn’t mind, really. He wished that everyone could look at him normally from now on, as if nothing had happened to him.

Ferdinand was much more comfortable because of the joined forces of the pain medicine and the sacred weapons that Saint Cichol himself had once held in the exalted past. The only pain from his wounds that came then was when Flayn, or Linhardt flexed and unflexed his left hand while focusing healing magic on it. When Flayn told him to try to move the fingers, day after day, he could twitch them more and more.

And wherever Flayn was, Seteth was there also.

“I am sorry about the misfortune you have suffered Ferdinand, I truly am. I will stay nearby, but I have no knowledge of how to help you beyond that,” he told Ferdinand in a pastoral tone the day after he arrived. Even when Ferdinand couldn’t see Seteth hovering in the room, staring off into space with an intense thinking expression, he could still feel the energy as if he were nearby. He must have camped just outside the rickety infirmary for him, or slept in one of the other rooms on the leftover beds. 

After only two days of this treatment, the bandages didn’t tug at Ferdinand’s reforming skin as much when they were changed. If he tried, he could almost turn himself over, too. When Ferdiniand asked Lorenz a question during one of his silence-averting monologues, Lorenz beamed ear to ear. 

When they collectively decided to move him to a proper infirmary, one nearer to Enbarr where they had more food and more healers to let Flayn and Linhardt rest, Ferdinand helped his friends move him by sitting halfway up. Flayn, Linhardt, and even Lorenz made a nest of wool padding and blankets in a covered wagon. Ferdinand heard Lorenz instructing some of his servants to make sure that none of the villagers were watching them lay the Duke into the wagon, too. Flayn and Seteth stationed themselves by Ferdinand’s side to make sure the restoration of his body continued in full vigor even on the ride to Enbarr. Lorenz paid a villager to tell Bernadetta, Dorothea, and Leonie where Ferdinand and the retinue of healers had gone if they came to Sindry, for good measure.

The ride to the new infirmary was uneventful. The blankets kept most of the cold out, and Flayn kept a weak but steady current of warming magic flowing into Ferdinand’s body, too.

“Tantivy! Tantivy!” Lorenz shouted the hunting cry outside the wagon, encouraging his horse to run faster. Ferdinand could hear his horse galloping past the wagon, then slowing down again to let the wagon keep up. “Tantivy,” was it? Ferdinand laughed for the first time since he had been burned almost to death. Lorenz shouting “Tantivy” as if he were on a hunting trip while riding slowly down a road was too much like him. Perhaps things would turn out all right after all.

***

The new infirmary was a squat stone building, unassuming but sturdy. It kept the heat within it much better than the extended shack in Sindry, that was for sure. There was a greater variety of food for him there. Winter squash, smoked meat, eggs, cheese, and even some pastries. Ferdinand’s room had a fireplace, which gave off an agreeable, warm glow. There was a window with a glass pane and heavy shutters that allowed him to see the sky outside while still being able to retain heat in the room, too. The days of recovery there passed as slowly as had in Sindry, but much more pleasantly. 

It was not long before Linhardt and Flayn, working in shifts along with a cortège of other healers, were able to heal him to the point where the bandages didn’t stick to his skin at all when they came off. The glimpses of himself that Ferdinand saw when it was time to change his damp protective sheath had no raw skin or patches of meat underneath the skin now. 

When Linhardt or Flayn focused on his head in their healing sessions, they changed to doing it with the bandages off. When that happened, Ferdinand was careful to not try to move any muscles in his face at all, so as not to accidentally feel whether his face was still unnaturally stiff. Ferdinand was terrified of seeing himself in any other state besides looking exactly like he did before he was burned. When the bandages covering his head were changed, Ferdinand couldn’t help but notice that none of the healers ever looked happy with the results they saw. The dread came creeping up again, taking hold of his heart. He knew that soon, the bandages would come off for good, and he would have to see what he was doomed to look like. After a mere three days in the better infirmary, Flayn, Seteth, Lorenz, and Linhardt gathered around Ferdinand to tell him that the time had finally come.

The bandages lay in a spiraling pile on the floor, stained with yellow splotches of serum. The healers had brought him a tunic to wear, and he allowed them to dress him in it. Even with the clothes, Ferdinand could feel the tepid air of his sickroom on his skin now, and each movement brought a slight breeze to feel. Four pairs of eyes rested on his disfigured body. He could not hide away. Linhardt, Flayn, Lorenz, and Seteth had already seen his body when his bandages were being changed, but this still felt different, still felt mortifying. Linhardt, with a solemn expression, reached out to Ferdinand with a mirror in his hand. Ferdinand turned his head away.

“Ferdinand, I will always be your friend no matter what you look like,” Lorenz said, looking Ferdinand straight in the face. Ferdinand only nodded in response. Lorenz had seen him. How could he avoid mirrors forever? How could he ever hope to avoid seeing himself when his friend knew what he looked like now? Ferdinand shakily reached out and took the mirror into his hand.

What he saw first was an area around his right eye that looked normal. He recognized that.  
Beyond that, his skin was a strange topography of scars, wrinkled like the crust of a loaf of bread. The left corner of his mouth was curled down by the warped tissue. Where his left eye had been was a hollow in his face, where the waxy scarred skin dipped into a shallow darkness. 

It looked like Flayn and Linhardt had managed to save most of his scalp. All of the right half, as well as much of the left had patches of sunny orange hair coming in… along with patches of white hair. Ferdinand had heard of emotional distress causing one’s hair to turn white. The memory of his father describing the drained appearance of Emperor Ionius IX to him after the Insurrection of the Seven surfaced. His father had sounded so triumphant, telling Ferdinand that the Emperor was emaciated and had the white hair of an eighty-year old. Perhaps the old Duke’s soul could see his son now. Was this part of his father’s divine punishment, or was it for failing to save his father from being murdered? 

After he had probed his new face with his eye, he sat there, lost. It was as if the scars on his face were a labyrinth he could never find his way out of. Ferdinand could feel hot tears sliding down his cheek and out of his nose. The mirror was gently tugged out of his hand. He felt someone lay a hand on his shoulder. Ferdinand was not finished processing, though, and his breathing grew more ragged.

Ferdinand raised up his shaking hands before his face. His left hand, despite Flayn and Linhardt’s hard work, did not have as much sensation as his right. The skin he felt did not feel like his. It was tighter, and uneven, and not as soft as it should be. Would he ever feel like himself again? Lorenz had accepted him because he was a saint at heart, and noble-minded, but would anyone else? 

He thought of how all the routine meetings that had filled his days before would have to change now. Oh, how his peers and his subjects alike would stare in fear at him now, like a soldier seeing a demonic beast for the first time. Or never meet his gaze at all. Ferdinand thought that talking as he normally did, in a bright and friendly tone, would sound absolutely absurd to almost everyone now, a loathsome freak trying to speak like a handsome knight. Ferdinand thought, with a dreadful, heavy feeling in his stomach, that he needn’t have worried about being forgotten by history. He would surely be remembered as the son of a corrupted Duke who turned into a monster himself. 

He thought he heard voices speaking to him, but he was deaf to any comforting words then. What would they tell Bernadetta when she arrived? “Don’t be scared, it’s only Ferdinand.” That heart-crushing phrase would be repeated to his wife over and over and over again, Ferdinand was sure, all the while Bernadetta would be hyperventilating and turning away.

Their child would grow up knowing his new face, perhaps thinking the twisted features were a normal part of growing older. Eventually he or she would find out, though. Maybe someone would make fun of his child for their father’s appearance. Maybe a friend would visit one day and run away crying in terror. 

Ferdinand’s thoughts stewed more as his shoulders began to shake. Maybe the moment of revelation for his child would simply come from finding the portrait of him and Bernadetta that was painted after they were wed, hidden in some out of the way room.

“Who is the man next to Mother?” Ferdinand imagined their child innocently asking a servant. The servant would give his child a pitying look, and then attempt to explain the horrible story without making the little one cry.

Then, Ferdinand felt someone shake his shoulder, so slowly he almost didn’t notice. Ferdinand heard Lorenz finish a sentence he hadn’t heard the beginning of.

“...like something?” Lorenz said. Ferdinand turned around to look. His friend’s face was written with worry, and he had scooted his chair closer to Ferdinand’s sickbed. Lorenz lowered his hand from Ferdinand’s shoulder.

“I am sorry. I didn’t hear… What did you ask me?” Ferdinand said in a husky voice. Lorenz said nothing more, but pulled out an embroidered handkerchief from a vest pocket and offered it to Ferdinand. He took it with a shaking hand and blotted up his tears. The handkerchief was lightly perfumed with the heady scent of roses. Ever since Ferdinand had met him at school, the smell of roses calmed him. Then, it blocked out the smell of the sickroom for a brief but sweet time.

While Lorenz performed this kindness for Ferdinand, he continued to crease his face with concern. When Lorenz was done, he carefully folded the cloth back up and stuck it in the same pocket.

“I was wondering whether you were ready to take your breakfast,” Lorenz continued finally. At this, Flayn clapped her hands excitedly together.

“Oh yes! I’m famished! And you need to eat, too!” she said. She sounded cheerful, but her eyes drifted between him and Lorenz sadly.

“Very well. I suppose I… very well,” Ferdinand said. Everyone else besides Lorenz excused themselves to fetch food. They must not want to be around him for much longer since his recovery seemed to be almost as far as it could go now.

Lorenz was staring at Ferdinand with an unfamiliar glint in his eyes. Ferdinand’s mind turned trying to guess what thoughts must be crossing Lorenz’s mind. They couldn’t be good. As if Lorenz were his better, Ferdinand lowered his eyes. He heard Lorenz shift in his chair. He wanted to fill the silence with something, so he thought up a question. 

“Lorenz, should I do anything different now? Should I speak differently?” he said. 

“What? Whyever should you do that? You have always behaved in a way that befits your status. I do not know of anyone with gentler manners,” said Lorenz.

“That is exactly what I mean, Lorenz.” Ferdinand continued looking down. “I don’t… I don’t look like someone who should be in polite society. And speaking cheerfully would be laughable.” He heard Lorenz draw in a sharp breath, in a way Ferdinand recognized from times when his friend was genuinely taken aback. There were several seconds of silence.

“What? You never changed your conduct when Edelgard stole your titles and land. You knew you had the heart of a noble then,” Lorenz said. That was true. There was a short time between when he heard the heart shattering news that all the titles and lands he based his identity and plans on were taken and when they were driven from the monastery. Then, Lorenz had sought him out to eat every possible meal with Ferdinand, pointedly treating him exactly the same as before the awful news. “The idea… I have never heard you suggest anything like that before. This notion is simply unthinkable!”

Ferdinand began to feel foolish for asking, but the instinct behind his question was still there. Before this had all happened, he believed that he had a role to fulfill in his position of nobility. Before, he believed that he would never falter. But the image of a face Ferdinand didn’t want to belong to him always came back to his mind. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. Instead, he struggled up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Lorenz hurriedly supported Ferdinand’s arms to help him stand.

“Lorenz, I barely feel like a person anymore. You may be able to look at me now and speak the same… but…” Ferdinand paused. “But... nobody else-” Lorenz’s arms, which had been under Ferdinand’s forearms, wrapped around his torso instead and squeezed him tight. “Ah…” Ferdinand breathed out. A hug. He hadn’t had one in so long now. He relaxed his head onto Lorenz’s shoulder and hugged Lorenz back. 

Lorenz hugged him for a long time. The snugness of the embrace made him content, if only for a while. When the door creaked open again and the aroma of food wafted in, accompanied by footsteps, Lorenz didn’t stop. He only released his hold when Ferdinand did.

The breakfast passed by with idle small talk. Ferdinand contributed very little. He still couldn’t bring himself to look the others in the eyes. The rest of the day was uneventful. He no longer had to be turned; he was strong enough to do that for himself now. The feeling of sheets sliding against his scars made him shiver. When nightfall came, he heard some commotion coming from the front of the building, but it quieted down soon enough. Ferdinand thought nothing of it. 

At night, his thoughts concerning Bernadetta and their baby returned with a vengeance. A gyre of fear and shame swirled in his head as he lay awake in the bed. He heard some hesitant shuffles from shoes enter into his room, and then leave again after a few minutes. He assumed it was Flayn, or perhaps one of the healers he didn’t know the names of. Ferdinand didn’t turn to look. He didn’t want to witness anyone looking at him. It took a long while for him to fall asleep.

The next morning, Lorenz helped him up again.

“Let’s go for a walk, Ferdinand. I’m sure you would feel better if you escaped this room for a while. Do you want me to be on your right side, or on your left side?” he asked. Ferdinand wasn’t sure that he would feel better going out of his room. What if someone who hadn’t seen him before saw him for the first time? But then again… most of the healers here already had, and he did long to see something else besides the interior of a sick room.

“I… agree. I think… my left side,” Ferdinand replied. It would make him more secure if Lorenz were protecting his blind side. 

“Very well, my friend!” Lorenz said, and supported Ferdinand’s left arm as they slowly shambled out. 

When they came to a window to the outside, Ferdinand cautiously peered out.

Bernadetta’s face greeted him. Eyes frozen wide, mouth agape, the handwriting of terror. Before Ferdinand could process the information, Bernadetta shrieked in fear and jumped back.

“S-sorry! I-I’m sorry, I-” she said, and cut herself off by backing up, then darting away. 

A full body shudder ran through Ferdinand. His wife was there. Bernadetta was there already… and she already saw him… and she hated him now. She couldn’t bear to look at him. Ferdinand’s heart crumpled. 

“Ferdinand! Ferdinand don’t worry, I know she-” Lorenz began. Ferdinand lowered his arm and slid it out of his friend’s grasp. There was nothing that Lorenz could say to help him then. A sudden emptiness hollowed out his chest, which an ache in the center. He couldn’t bear to be in his body then. He turned around as quickly as he could, breathing stertorously. Lorenz put a hand on his shoulder. Ferdinand shook it off, and staggered towards the door to his sickroom, his cell, as quickly as he was able. 

As soon as he set foot inside, he turned and leaned his weight against the wooden door, not trusting his strength to do it quickly enough. Ferdinand saw Lorenz on the other side, hand starting to reach out to him. Lorenz’s eyes were wide too, and his brows were furrowed with concern. Ferdinand couldn’t bear it. He felt the sucking wound in his chest growing ever wider. He had to be alone. 

Ferdinand closed the door in Lorenz’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a bit longer than expected to finish this chapter. Hopefully it won't disappoint!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is finally time for Ferdinand to reconcile himself with his new life, and to return home with Bernadetta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry it took me so long to finish this, especially since I was supposed to be done last winter. I wanted to be sure I'd finish before 2020 ended! Happy end of 2020, Iconodule!

Ferdinand leaned on the door. He could feel no person pushing against it on the other side. His next heavy exhale felt like it expelled the last of his energy. Ferdinand slid down the door, crumpling himself into a heap on the hard floor. He could hear nothing but his own shaky breathing, and he wanted it to stay that way. 

“Goddess, please don’t let me hear her cry about me, I beg you. I don’t want to hear it, I…” Ferdinand thought, before he broke off. He stared around his sickroom, his remaining eye blurring with tears. It was very nice for a sickroom, and large. Ferdinand thought of how year after year, moon after moon, holidays, birthdays, and every other day, he would stay in a room like this from now on. There was no way around it. Taking in the sight of the stones that made up the room, surrounding him like the walls of a tomb, it was easy to imagine the minutes piling up like grains of sand until his life ran out. Ferdinand had better get used to being alone in rooms like this. Ferdinand couldn’t bear seeing people’s expressions when they saw him, and he was sure they didn’t want to see him, either. Even if they pushed the feeling down.

It was not long before he heard a mutter of crying from the other side. He knew the sound of Bernadetta’s sobbing all too well. Ferdinand felt the urge to cry out in anguish welling up inside him. To distract himself from the sound of his wife’s weeping, he attempted to concentrate on not joining in with her. Bernadetta would certainly hear, and feel even worse.

Ferdinand sat there, with the hard floor warming up around his body as the minutes passed. He gazed up at his bed, but did not want to shift himself off the ground for the comfort of it. As time wound on, through the fog of his thoughts, Ferdinand heard that Bernadetta was no longer crying. 

“She must have gone,” Ferdinand said. The rattling hoarseness of his voice surprised him. Ferdinand thought about how he would have to get used to talking to himself from now on.

That unpleasant haze of thoughts was parted by a decisive, but quiet knocking at the door.

“Duke Aegir?” came a polite voice through the wooden barrier. It was the familiar voice of his valet, Andre Eld. He sounded oddly unaffected, which was a mote of comfort. The ordinary conversation opener slipped past his guard, and he sat there, blinking his eye slowly. Ferdinand almost didn’t want to answer him, as petty as it was to let others know a little of the discomfort he felt. But Eld has been a presence in his life longer than any other living person. With a chill of sadness, Ferdinand remembered Eld teaching him how to make tea.

“Yes?” Ferdinand replied, as quietly as he thought he could get away with.

“We are all very worried about you, son. We- I mean sir,” Eld said. Even though his valet’s habit of accidentally calling him “son” had cheered him up in the past, Ferdinand wasn’t in the mood to laugh. To tell the truth, the image of a cloud of people waiting outside to douse him with pitying stares made him want to open the door even less. He knew he should say thank you.

“They... aren’t waiting behind you... are they?” Ferdinand said haltingly. There was a pause before Eld answered one the same fatherly tone.

“No indeed, sir. I am currently the only one here at present.” Eld paused again. Ferdinand could hear the older man sliding his hand down the other side of the door and a pained grunt. When the old valet spoke, his voice sounded from kneeling level. “I hope I am not presuming too much when I say this, sir. I know that seeing others pity you isn’t a pleasant feeling. Take heart. It is right for a person to feel pity for someone who is suffering, so don’t begrudge us too much. I know it can rub one’s pride the wrong way, but looks of pity are just a sign that a person’s compassion isn’t dead.”

Ferdinand said nothing to this. It made sense, and in his heart he accepted it, but his emotions were too sour to give Eld’s remarks that verbal assent they deserved. Finally, Ferdinand said,

“Thank you, Eld.” 

No noises of movement came from the other side for a little while, until Eld’s voice reached through the door again.

“I’m sure you must be getting hungry, sir. Dinner will be served soon. Count Gloucester wished me to tell you that if you want, your meal can be brought to your room. I wouldn’t advise it, though, sir. I think that if you don’t eat with everyone tonight, it will be much more difficult to do so in the future,” he said. Ferdinand knew that he was right.

“...Thank you, Eld,” Ferdinand said. Soon, the old man rose again on the other side of the door, and Ferdinand heard him no more. 

Bernadetta’s fear of him wasn’t pity. Eld was off the mark, there. He was sure that both fear and pity would be a problem in the future, though. He had learned so much from his valet in the past, and letting his current and future predicament stop that learning would be a shame. But going to dinner would mean seeing Bernadetta’s face twisted in terror again, no matter how right Eld was. 

Ferdinand did not move from where he was.

Contemplating the dry riverbed of flagstones surrounding him, he began to grow hungry. It wouldn’t be too long before someone would want to see him again. The sounds of a new visitor stirred in the distance, the light scraping of shoes against rock sending a tremor down his spine. Maybe it was just Eld again. That wouldn’t be so-

A familiar cough rattled feebly beyond the door.

Bernadetta.

Ferdinand froze, knowing that stillness could not prevent what happened next, least of all when he was hidden from sight anyway, but he did not care. He stayed as still as a frightened sparrow.

“F-ferdinand..” she began quietly, almost too softly for him to hear. Ferdinand thought he heard her taking a deep, tremulous breath. “I’m so sorry for doing that! I can’t forgive myself for making you feel even worse after you’ve suffered so long! Please…please feel better,” she said louder this time, her words almost running together.

Willing himself to feel better was not something Ferdinand thought was possible. But he could not ignore a plea from his beloved, even if he ought never to be seen by her again. 

“I understand,” was the dead reply Ferdinand opened with. “I forgive you,” he said, too. Even though anguish was drowning out his other feelings, he knew that as he got used to that feeling over the months he would find his love for Bernadetta right where he left it. “Nobody should have been raised as you were, and nobody should look like I do.”

To answer his wife’s request, Ferdinand could only say,

“I will feel better if you feel better. I… I can remain away from your sight, or at least until the baby is born, or until a mask can be made.”

Ferdinand’s offer hung in the air like a vulture surveying a battlefield. No answer from Bernadetta disturbed it for a long while.

“...This is wrong.” Bernadetta’s words were quiet, but they rang through the wood of the door with a determined conviction.

The words bit Ferdinand’s heart. He couldn’t disagree. This was wrong, just as all death and suffering was wrong. None of it should exist, even though much of it was necessary because of the everlasting presence of accidents and ill intent. 

The doorknob rattled. Ferdinand sat there in shock, and Bernadetta made no more sound, herself. She rattled the doorknob again. 

“Are you sure?” Ferdinand said. The reply was almost too quiet to hear.

“Yes…”

Ferdinand stood up laboriously, shuffled back from the door, and opened it. Bernadetta was a blur, and as quick as he saw her, she was attached to his side, a little bird nestled in a clothen nest. He didn’t try to stop the tears.

Ferdinand wrapped his arms around his wife and their child, still protected inside Bernadetta’s belly. Ferdinand gently squeezed her against himself, hoping to be able to feel her heartbeat against his chest. His own heart felt like bursting, and feeling hers would deepen his reassurance. The embrace felt like a spiral, Ferdinand encircling Bernadetta, and she encircling their child. 

Ferdinand thought the clothes she was wearing felt familiar, and looked down. Bernadetta was wearing one of his old school jackets.

“By the way Bernadetta… I have to wonder. Why are you wearing that?” Ferdinand said.

“Oh. That’s um…I’ve been wearing some of your coats ever since… because they still smell like you,” Bernadetta murmured, mostly into his chest. Ferdinand pressed her into himself more.

A polite knocking came at the door. 

“Sir? Madame? I have taken the liberty of bringing you your dinner,” Eld said. 

“Thank you, Eld,” Ferdinand said. 

After they ate together, isolated from well-meaning but prying eyes, Bernadetta went to her own room, and Ferdinand, exhausted, was taken instantly by sleep.

The next day, Bernadetta tiptoed into Ferdinand’s room with an announcement to make:

“I want to sketch you! And then we can send it to the people back home. Um, if that’s alright with you, that is.” Ferdinand inhaled steeply.

“Why? Are you sure?” he said. 

“I thought that it might make you less nervous to go back if… they already had an idea of what you look like,” said Bernadetta. She had a point.

“That is a very prudent idea. I cannot help but feel that I shouldn’t sit for a picture in this state, though,” said Ferdinand. Lorenz, who had been hovering in the next room, added his voice.

“You really must stop thinking of yourself that way, my friend. You are in this position today because you were protecting the common folk, so your scars are a badge of honor.” Ferdinand looked down at his hands, covered now in almost bark-textured flesh. If he were talking about a scar limited to shoulder or a leg, he would have agreed with Lorenz. Ferdinand kept his silence, and only nodded.

Ferdinand fixed his gaze in the corner of the room, not wanting to see the wretched drawing when it was done. He focused his mind on the sound of Bernadetta’s methodical pencil movements, until time wound down and she was satisfied with his likeness. A wyvern courier was immediately sent with the drawing to send the cold reality home.

***

When it was finally time for Linhardt to go home and get a richly-deserved rest, he had a drowsy smile on his face. Ferdinand could almost feel the deep gulf of sleep the man looked forward to. When he and the others breakfasted that morning, Ferdinand sensed the restlessness stirring in the air. He felt like he had been waited on by them for years, but what had it been? Only a few weeks? All the same, Ferdinand had to repay them somehow. 

“Linhardt, forgive me for my rudeness. I never discussed how to pay you for your help yet,” Ferdinand said. Linhardt paused from watching one of his servants packing his clothes to turn around. His eyebrows were arched, and for once, he was smiling.

“Oh! Thank you for reminding me, Ferdinand! I think something to the tune of… some research equipment would do,” he said. Without hesitation, Ferdinand nodded his agreement. He didn’t want to linger too long on the silence after the awkward subject of payment, so he made for Flayn and Seteth’s room next. The fragments of a quiet conversation drifted out, but died down as soon as his damned loud limping got close. Seteth seemed to have the lion’s share of the luggage to pack, and Flayn held a blouse in her arms.

“Oh, don’t worry! We don’t want any payment!” Flayn piped up.

“Truly? I took so much of your time and effort,” Ferdinand said, unable to focus on either Flayn’s or Seteth’s face. Flayn put on a cheery face, and Seteth adopted his businesslike, administrative pose, albeit with a neatly folded stack of clothes in his arms.

“Yes!” Flayn said simply. Seteth seemed to come to some sort of realization, and set his clothes down. With the air of someone digging a library book out of a satchel, he produced the Shield of Ochain and handed it to Ferdinand.

“Here. I’ve gotten along without it before, and you need it,” Seteth said. Ferdinand took his family’s shield once again in his hands, the gnarled flesh spreading over the silvery rim. The memory of his father first letting Ferdinand hold the Shield when he was a child came reaching out of the depths of his memory like the twisted arms of a fairy tale monster. “That is to say, I know the Shield has been gifted to your family before, at least,” Seteth said quickly. Ferdinand thought what Seteth said was a little odd, but didn’t really want to think about it too much. After what happened to him, he knew the whole army, including Seteth, would be extra careful. He could always return the shield to Seteth, anyway.

“I see. I will pray for your safety, then. Thank you,” Ferdinand said. Seteth made a slight bow at this. And after a few more uneventful hours passed, all of those who had poured their days into healing Ferdinand left. Perhaps he would never see them again. It was never guaranteed.

And with their departure, it was time to withdraw to his home with his wife. Somehow, his estate seemed like a place he misremembered. And with the sketch, he had a hard time imagining the servants lining up in a beaming row to welcome him on his return. 

At least a good part of the way back would be shared with Lorenz, but eventually, he too would have to return to his own lands. He was sure to visit more often than normal, but Lorenz was not his babysitter. Ferdinand knew that until he eventually died, he would have many long hours alone with his thoughts. 

Even more than that, he would have many days full of running his territory, a duty he once viewed with excitement. To keep his territory prosperous and the people within happy, he had to meet face to face with scores of his peers, the nobles and officials of the land. He could almost see their horrified faces in front of him right then. There was no medicine, no healing magic that could cure his necessity to see them. A full face mask would mufle his speech, too. Perhaps he would use a veil instead...

A black mourning veil, the kind that covered one’s entire neck and head like the top of a burial shroud, would be perfect. If Linhardt had not found Ferdinand, it would have been traditional for Bernadetta to wear one to his funeral. It would be a grim irony for Ferdinand to wear one himself. The privacy would be a relief, however, or perhaps a necessity if there would be children wherever he was.

“Sir? We have begun packing your things and preparing the carriage,” Eld said. He had glided in behind him, unseen, as he was wont to do at the Aegir estate when Eld was more in his element.

“Thank you. Eld, there is something I would like for you to get for me before we leave,” Ferdinand said.

“Of course, sir. What is it?”

“A veil. One that covers the whole head and neck, like a mourning veil,” he said quietly. Lorenz would doubtless scold him if he overheard the request. Here Eld paused before his answer.

“Of course, sir. I took the liberty of packing one for the Duchess in case you didn’t make it.” Eld hesitated again before he continued. “I shall fetch it for you at once.”

Ferdinand waited for his valet to return, watching their carriages be prepared for the journey back to their new domestic life. She had been brave enough to sketch him, but perhaps he should wear the veil in the carriage ride back for Bernadetta’s sake. They would be in close quarters in the carriage for more than a day. 

When Eld returned with the veil, Ferdinand folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. When the time came to leave, Lorenz did not get into his own carriage, but instead elected to ride alongside their carriage. That almost made Ferdinand smile. Loyal to the very end of his sad episode of their lives. 

Bernadetta filed in after Ferdinand, bringing a novel with her. Ferdinand felt tempted to say “This is all almost over now,” but that didn’t seem to be true to him. He just pulled the edges of his mouth up while looking out of the window. Both of their movements were stiff and awkward, like they were a couple sitting down to dinner after a screaming match.

The first half of the journey was uneventful. After the first stop at a village, Bernadetta had finished reading her novel. Lorenz stopped with them to change horses, and broke the silence with some small talk about the weather. A cold dusk was curdling the breeze, and the villagers peeked out of their windows at the nobles’ entourage. Ferdinand stiffened under their gaze, even though he was too far away from them for many details to be visible. Thankfully, Eld brought them their dinner. When Ferdinand and Bernadeta climbed back into the carriage, Ferdinand pulled out the veil and put it on. 

At first, Bernadetta said nothing, and Ferdinand kept looking out of the window, now through a mist of black organza. Then he heard her sniffle. He turned back to look at his wife, and her face was now furrowed with guilt.

“I’m.. sorry again... for before, when I ran away,” she said. 

“No! It is alright. The veil is not about that. You have nothing to be sorry about. I just thought it would be easier for you,” Ferdinand said. The words simmered in the air for a while, but Bernadetta’s expression didn’t leave. 

A few minutes later, she sidled closer to him on the seat. The gilded arrows of a dying sunset crept into the window, and to distract himself, Ferdinand tried to see how close they were to home.

“Ah.. We are passing Bragi village now. It is where most of the horseshoes are made in this part of the country,” Ferdinand said. It was trivial, but he needed to talk to his wife about something he would have talked about before he was injured. 

“Oh… that’s nice,” was her reply. “Um,” Bernadetta’s voice tilted up at the last vocalization, and she grabbed the edge of the veil. She peered up at Ferdinand, seeming to wait for a reaction. A gasp puffed out of Ferdinand, swaying the veil. 

“Are you sure, my love? The-” As Ferdinand said this, Bernadetta slowly pulled her veil off of him. “I.. I…”

“I want to tell you a secret,” she whispered in his ear. Ferdinand blinked in surprise. Bernadetta’s eyes were shining up at him, and she looked so earnest now. It almost reminded him of when she first warmed up to him at school. But if it was a secret, it had to be serious. 

“What is it?” was the only response he could conjure up.

“Oh.. wait. I’m doing it wrong,” Bernadetta mumbled, then moved to his blind side, grabbing his sleeve. What did she mean by changing to the side where she would see the most scarred part of his face? Ferdinand leaned towards her to hear better. She began again: “The secret is that I want to kiss you.”

Bernadetta paused for a response, but Ferdinand was too racked with surprise to say anything. She placed her kiss on his left cheek, and the warmth it gave lasted for the entire journey home.

***

The subtle, textrous glide of a paintbrush against canvas punctuated the silence. Ferdinand stood over Bernadetta, gazing into his library and itching to see how the portrait was coming along. Even though he was posed for a portrait, he felt like a hen looming over a chick. Occasionally he peeked down at her, diligently dabbing away at the large canvas, her face betraying nothing but concentration. Bernadetta had said it was to test an idea for a more “current” portrait that they would commission from Ignatz, but Ferdinand knew it was her quiet way of helping them both get used to his new appearance. 

The gesture was obvious, but he knew to look past that, now. It was a good thing to reach out to him, no matter if the transparent motive could remind him of the new way the world must see him. 

He tried to push away thoughts of their descendants hiding away the finished painting, along with Ignatz’s future updated portrait, once he had passed from the world for good. Ferdinand could only use his own days well, and work patiently until the close of his story. As long as he worked his own lands well, his descendants could grow. Ferdinand couldn’t pretend that he didn’t care what they would think of him. The children of his children didn’t exist yet, but they were his, and he loved them. He didn’t know if he would be able to see what way the world went after he was dead. If, after he passed, he could watch the living world, Ferdinand knew that he would watch over the health of his family for as long as it continued.

As long as others cared about Ferdinand, and as long as he cared about others, there was more than weariness left for him in the world.

***

Because of the incident in Sindry and her former student’s near-death, Archbishop Poppy and her former students redoubled their efforts to root out Those Who Slither in the Dark. After his recovery, Ferdinand did not falter in his duties as the duke, despite his difficulties in talking to his peers. The new Duke Aegir became famous across the land due to both his appearance and his competence. In addition to his policies, his scars made him oddly popular among the commonfolk, since he got them protecting a village. After years of success in creating happiness for his people, King Dimitri invited Ferdinand to help administer the country. Bernadetta, for her part, took on the role of ruling her and her husband’s lands. While his new station required much travel, he was always overjoyed to return home to his family.


End file.
